


On hard times

by cthink



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Blowjobs, Cashton, Drugs, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Muke - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, Sad Calum, Smut, Suicide Attempt, University Student Ashton, University Student Calum, University Student Luke, University Student Michael, artist!calum, everyone's got issues, musician!michael, photographer!luke, v dark in places so be careful, writer!ashton
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 18:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6577864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthink/pseuds/cthink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike: have you seen who's moved in across the hall from us<br/>Cal: no why??<br/>Mike: he's<br/>Mike: I'm<br/>Mike: I think I'm in love</p><p>Or: Michael loves Luke so much it scares him, Luke is trying to understand why, Calum's sad and Ashton is trying desperately to forget his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We were younger then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from All I Want by Dawn Golden.

Mike: dude  
Cal: you're literally in the room next to me why don't you just come talk to me??  
Mike: bro  
Cal: ugh what  
Mike: have you seen who's moved in across the hall from us  
Cal: no why??  
Mike: he's  
Mike: I'm  
Mike: I think I'm in love  
Cal: noice  
Mike: is that it??  
Cal: yup  
Mike: he's gorgeous cal  
Mike: I'm talking gorgeous with a capital H  
Cal: gorgeous doesn't begin with H  
Mike: my finger slipped ok  
Mike: how can one human be so damn lovely?  
Cal: is he lovelier than me?  
Mike: ...  
Cal: i am offended Michael Clifford!! Take that back or I will forget all 12 years of our friendship and move back home away from u and this shitty university  
Mike: babe you know I'm joking, no ones lovelier than u  
Cal: that's better

When Michael first saw the tall boy across the hallway with skin as pale and translucent as snowflakes, blonde hair messy and curled in all different directions like a field of soft golden wheat (Michael was never good with similes, let's just say the hair was nice), he was sure an angel had fallen from above and landed in the shitty apartment opposite theirs- the definition of a miracle.

The boy didn't see Michael, but Michael saw him. Shifting boxes awkwardly up the stairs and failing entirely, puffing his hair out of his cerulean eyes in frustration when long lanky limbs lost their grip on the papery brown cardboard. It was a golden opportunity; the boy was alone (that sounded _really_ fucking creepy when Michael thought about it), with no one to help him, and Michael knew the struggles of hauling possessions up the ridiculously creaky wooden steps- he'd done it before, although he'd had Calum there to help. Like he said: a golden opportunity.

He coughed to let the boy know he was there, so as not to startle him and make him drop yet another box of what looked like dusty old CDs, but to no avail. The boy sighed in defeat as the CDs landed on the floor with a clatter that made Michael wince, before turning to look at the red-head with wide surprised eyes.  
"Sorry, am I in your way?" He'd asked with a voice like magic, stepping to the side before Michael had even had a chance to reply.  
"No, no," Michael chuckled, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, "I was just gonna ask if you needed any help."  
The boys shoulders sagged in relief, and he ran a hand through his dishevelled locks before extending the other one out to Michael.  
"Thanks. My names Luke." He smiled as Michael took his hand, and Michael instantaneously fell in love with the way his thin lips gave way to a wonderful set of white teeth, and his blonde eyebrows quirked up just the right amount in the centre, and his eyes lit up into sparkly pools of warm blue that Michael could dive into and never return.  
"Michael." He returned the smile, before moving to pick up the box and scattered CDs Luke had ungraciously dropped on the floor.  
"Thanks again." Luke said gratefully, pulling his lip ring between his teeth as he frowned in thought; "these stairs are a nightmare."  
"Tell me about it." Michael laughed.

Michael decided that you could tell a lot about a person from their possessions. And he wasn't sure whether or not that was just common sense, but it was true nonetheless. Luke was good with photography; the endless boxes brimming with old polaroids and camera lenses told Michael that much- and he had a pretty good taste in music too. Turned out Luke had just transferred to the same college as Michael and Calum, because his parents had been stubborn and wanted him to become a lawyer, instead of following his dreams and taking photography. So Luke had ran away- all the way to a different city, it would seem, but Michael couldn't really say he blamed him. Michael had had bad experiences with parents.

Michael was gay, undeniably so, but when he finally told his mother and father that one evening- they were _outraged_. Michael's father's face had turned hard and cold and horrid, and his mother looked at him like he was a piece of shit on the bottom of her shoe- a mistake, something that wasn't supposed to be there, something vile and detestable. Michael had received a split lip from his own father simply because he didn't like girls, wasn't in love with girls- Michael hated it. He'd never expected them to react that way, and he certainly hadn't expected them to call Calum's parents up, of all the people.  
You see, ever since Michael and Calum had met in the playground playing around with a tiny football back in school, the Clifford and the Hood family had been close. It was understandable, really- when Calum wasn't at home, he was at Michael's, and when Michael wasn't at home, he was at Calum's. That was the way it was.  
But the Cliffords called up the Hoods, and began spitting insults about their own son down the line- warning them to keep the Kiwi boy away so he didn't end up like Michael- disgusting, wrong, unwanted. Michael pretended he couldn't care less, because he was the rebellious teenage boy who already had piercings and tattoos littered over his body, and bright unnatural hair that made the adults tut, but it _hurt_. Because Michael had never seen that coming from his own parents. The Hoods agreed entirely, and Calum was texting Michael furiously from his bedroom;

Cal: why are my parents telling me to stay away from u??  
Mike: because I'm gay

And it was ridiculous, really, because Calum was gay too- he'd just never admit it, and after Michael's own recent experience, why would he? Calum refused his parents, had an argument with them (which _never_ happened), and ended up storming out, claiming that "he'd rather spend the rest of his life with Michael than spend another minute with the likes of them." Although Michael wanted the best for Calum, which was inevitably here in Sydney, he couldn't deny the swell of pride and relief he felt. Calum was never going to leave him, and Michael knew that for certain.

And so they'd left together, because Michael could barely look his own parents in the eye- so he sure as hell wasn't going to live in the same house as them- and Calum said he'd rather _die_ than never talk to Michael again, which Michael didn't find hard to believe.

Calum was smart, and Michael wasn't smart but he tried, and they'd both already gotten their offers. The university wasn't either of their first choices, but it was the only one they'd both had offers from, and they agreed they'd rather go there than ever separate. With what little money they had saved up, they'd caught a train, they'd rented a small shitty apartment (that still felt like the most home they'd ever had nonetheless), and Calum got a job in the local library- which didn't pay particularly well, but it was better than nothing.

Michael had insisted on getting a job too, of course, because he wasn't going to let Calum pay the rent alone- but Calum had argued that; a) Michael still had his savings, and b) Calum's course was easier than Michael's so he had much more time on his hands anyway. Michael wasn't sure he agreed with that- in fact, he definitely didn't agree with that, but Calum refused. Michael didn't really know why.

They'd only been there a couple weeks, eagerly awaiting the start of the first term just for something to do besides lounging around blasting Green Day and pissing off their neighbours, when Luke moved in. It was perfect, really, because as much as Michael loved his timid dark-haired friend, it was nice to have new people around too. Michael had never been much of a romantic, but how could you resist when such a tall perfect blond human being landed right on your fucking doorstep?

And so after that night, when Michael had eventually helped Luke move all the boxes and had bid him good night, Michael found himself happier than ever that he'd moved away from his stupid fucking parents, because this could actually work- he could do this. His life wasn't going to be a waste after all. He had his best friend with him, albeit a little shy and scared, and a place at a decent university and a beautiful boy who'd lured Michael in within the space of a few minutes right across the corridor- and it was pathetic, but Michael didn't care. It was perfect.

Cal: Mike  
Mike: Cal  
Mike: Cal?  
Cal: help  
Mike: what is it are u alright??  
Mike: cal  
Mike: CALUM  
Cal: that guy  
Cal: Luca?? Was that his name?  
Cal: is outside the door  
Mike: ohmygod you had me worried  
Mike: it's luke btw  
Mike: are you gonna let him in??  
Cal: what  
Cal: no r u serious??  
Mike: ugh fine gimme a sec

Michael acted chilled out about the whole thing, like he didn't really give a shit about Luke coming to knock at their door, like it was completely fucking normal and okay and cool for a beautifully breathtaking stranger to just turn up out of the blue, but as you can probably tell- he was anything but chilled out. It was 10 in the morning, and usually Michael would still be in bed around now. But Calum had woken him up simply because he was too shy to open the door himself and really, Michael shouldn't have been so hard on him, because who was he kidding? He'd have woken up at 5 in the morning if it meant a chance to talk to Luke.

He allowed himself to look through the tiny, dusty ass peephole in the door that was bound to fall off its hinges any day now, to just revel in Luke's beauty while the tall boy was completely oblivious, because why the fuck not? And he got so lost in just looking at the blond boy he completely lost track of time, and Calum was snickering softly behind him, and then Luke was turning to walk away, and Michael panicked because had he really been stood there staring at Luke for that long? And so he yanked the door open, and Luke span around in surprise, and Calum squeaked behind him and dashed off out of sight because he was probably the least sociable person Michael had ever met (no, that was unfair- he just got scared sometimes was all), and Michael froze and felt his lips melt into a smile of their own accord as Luke's eyes met his own.

Luke smiled too, an eyebrow raised like he hadn't expected anyone to answer, before he gave a light laugh and stuffed his hands into his pockets.  
"How may I help you?" Michael said with exaggerated friendliness, smirking. Luke laughed once more- music to Michael's ears- before he pulled his lip ring into his mouth once more (and damn, he really needed to stop doing that- it killed Michael every single time).  
"I was wondering if you could help me with something..."  
"I can try." Michael smiled, cursing himself repeatedly in his head for how damn cheesy and ridiculous he sounded.  
"Do you know where the library is? It's just, I need books for the next term, and-"  
"CAL!" Michael shouted up the stairs, blushing when he turned to see Luke watching him in surprise.  
"I think I just lost hearing in one ear," he laughed, and Michael giggled until his cheeks hurt and he felt giddy and his stomach was filled with butterflies (what the fuck was wrong with him?).  
Before Michael could respond, Calum was at the doorway, just out of Luke's sight, mouthing furiously to Michael something along the lines of: "don't you dare Michael Gordon Clifford, I will kill-"  
"Calum works there! He can take you."  
"Calum..." Luke raised a confused eyebrow.  
Michael frowned, before he realised that he'd been too beside himself (besotted, really) to even mention Calum to Luke last night.  
"Oh, my roommate. _Best_ mate, really. He has his moments."  
And Calum was fuming at this point, glowering at Michael from where he stood, the tips of his ears an angry red, before moving slowly and menacingly towards the door where Michael and Luke were conversing. It was when he stepped into Luke's view that all anger he had was replaced with downright fear, and Michael felt a little bad now, because he knew how much Calum struggled with stuff like this- he didn't do the whole making friends thing. Just wasn't his scene. And Michael knew it was selfish- but he needed to know everything about Luke, and find it out as discreetly as possible. Calum was obviously just the man for the job.

"Luke." Luke smiled as he took Calum's hand into his own, giving it a brief shake before turning back to Michael. Calum looked a little stunned at how quickly Luke had dismissed him, but then he noticed the way Luke was looking at Michael too, and decided that maybe, just _maybe_ \- Michael's childish crush wasn't completely one-sided.  
"Thanks a lot, man." Luke said, but it was definitely directed more towards Michael than Calum, blue eyes never leaving green ones, and Michael felt his heart skip a beat.  
"No problem." Calum chimed in sarcastically from behind Michael with a roll of his eyes, pushing past so he was next to Luke, already off down the stairs. Michael just shot Luke an apologetic grin, and Luke giggled over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner.


	2. I walk alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day.

Cal: michael whyyyYYYY  
Mike: dude I'm sorry  
Mike: just pls try to talk to him  
Cal: why should I  
Mike: because u love me

Calum spared a glance up from his phone at the blond giant who was strolling along casually beside him, before pocketing his phone with a sigh and speeding up his pace a little, desperate for the awkward walk to the library to be over.  
When it became obvious that Calum wasn't going to start a conversation any time soon, Luke apparently took it upon himself.  
"So...Michael."  
When Calum looked up at him again, Luke was smiling, his eyes twinkling with mischievousness. Calum just nodded, kicking at a stone and watching it roll away down the pavement.  
"He's nice." Luke says, and Calum nods in agreement.  
"You two aren't...?"  
Calum's head snaps up then, before he ducks back down when his cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment. He manages a small nervous laugh, not daring to look Luke in the eye.  
"No. Just friends." And he can't help but smile at the prospect of him and Michael ever being anything more, because it's just so ridiculous. Michael was always there for him, of course, and in turn Calum was always there for him- Michael was the one who told Calum that he was alright, squeezed his hand underneath the desk back in school when Calum messed up the answer or embarrassed himself, always picked up Calum's calls no matter what time of day when Calum was panicking or nervous or scared- but they were just friends. The best of friends.

Luke laughs too, before the two of them fall back into silence. Calum decided then and there that maybe Luke wasn't so bad; Michael liked him- scratch that, Michael loved him, so why shouldn't Calum?  
"Are you staying by yourself?" Calum said softly, never usually one to make conversation. But Luke was nice, and Calum felt more at ease with him than he did with most people.  
"Yeah." Luke says, with just a hint of sadness that makes Calum sad too, because if he didn't have Michael- if he, too, was alone- he knows he wouldn't survive a day. Leaving Calum alone with his thoughts was dangerous, destructive-

"But it's okay. I've put out an advertisement for a roommate, so hopefully something shows up." The edges of Luke's mouth quirk up, forming tiny little dimples in his pale cheeks and soft stubble, and he pushes the long blond hair out of his dazzling blue eyes, huffing in annoyance when some of his fringe catches on long dark eyelashes- Calum can definitely see why Michael likes him.  
"Hopefully," Calum replied; he didn't mean for it to sound as dismal and doubtful as it did, so when Luke sends him a confused look, he just pretended to be watching the swallows circling around the silvery clouds in the sky, the sound of his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, because Calum managed to fuck up the conversation- as per usual. And it wasn't his fault, really, it wasn't- yes it was- but he didn't do well with that kind of thing. Michael- it'd always been Michael, for as long as Calum could remember- just Michael. And he was fine with that, because he liked Michael and Michael like him. But Calum was trapped in a constant cycle of never being _good_ enough, because he just wasn't. He wasn't good enough for Michael, himself or anyone else. And that's why it was _only ever_ Michael. Because Michael had been the only one who'd actually bothered to talk to the shy eight year old with the fluffy hair who sat at the back of the class and kicked his tiny football around the playground by himself, and Michael was the only one who actually had the patience and love in his heart to deal with him. Calum was eternally grateful, he'd just never understood why.

Why had Michael bothered? Why had he stuck around? Why did anyone? Calum was a fuck up, a big one, and everyone knew it. Surely. How could they not?  
He spoke with a lisp, his stupid tongue and stupid teeth just never working together properly, and his skin was either too dark or too light to fit in with anyone else, and he was ugly, and he always got the answers wrong and no one ever wanted to talk to him and he was shy and weak and he couldn't even paint and he-

He panicked. A lot. And really, that was what it all came down to. Fucking amazing, brilliant, terrific- _anxiety_. Everywhere he went. He couldn't escape it; he was trapped within his own mind. And no matter how much he banged on the walls of the cage of his fucked up brain to just let him out, let him be in control just for once, he couldn't- he was well and truly stuck.

Calum wanted it to end. He wanted to be able to talk to who he wanted without getting shy or making things uncomfortable and awkward, and he wanted to be able to draw and paint without being scared that it was ugly just like he was, and he wanted the confidence and dependence in himself that seemingly everyone around him possessed, and he wanted to be able to do everyday things without getting frightened and scared, and he wished he could go out like normal people and that he could be good at something and just fucking sleep at night and that the voices would just shut up, please shut up please please _justshutupshutup_ SHUT UP-  
Calum wanted it to end. He really did want- _everything_ \- to end.

Who was stopping him? Michael. The only thing in the world that Calum had left to cling onto. So he tried for his red-haired best friend, he really did- he stuck tight, hid it all away- he was just shy, was all. Nothing wrong. Nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing wrong.

Calum gasped out loud when a thin finger tapping him on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts; the finger was quickly withdrawn. He turned to Luke, and the shock must've been in his eyes, because Luke let out a nervous chuckle.  
"I didn't mean to scare you, it's just...we're here."  
And he was right, they were, and Calum hadn't even realised. He blushed furiously, before fumbling with the library keys in his pocket. His heart skipped a beat when they weren't in his jeans, but then his hand flew instinctively to his jacket pocket instead, and he let out a breathy sigh of relief when his fumbling fingers made contact with the jingling metal.

The two of them stepped inside, Calum blessing his lucky stars when it was nice and warm and toasty inside (it was a large old building, and it took hours for it to warm up on cold days sometimes).  
"Calum?" Luke asked, and Calum hummed, not looking up from where he was turning on the computers behind the old wooden desks.  
"Is, Michael, uh...is he-"  
"Single? Yes."  
"Ah."  
And now it was Calum's turn to look at Luke mischievously, because this was what he'd been waiting for.  
"Why?" He asked, dragging it out a little with a smirk. He knew it was cheeky, but when it came to Michael and ridiculous crushes, Calum just couldn't resist.  
"Don't play with me, you know why." Luke rolled his eyes, and Calum was a little taken aback, because he completely missed the playful glint flashing in Luke's sapphire orbs, and that wasn't the response he'd been expecting. His mouth snapped shut, and he turned his back to Luke once more, pretending to fiddle some more with one of the plugs in the cream walls.  
"Cal?"  
Calum pretended not to hear him. And since when had Luke started calling him Cal? He'd know him for what? A morning? Only Michael called him Cal.  
"I was joking, Calum..."  
"I know," Calum mumbled, finally turning around to face Luke. The taller boy looked worried, almost, with something shimmering in his eyes that Calum couldn't quite identify. "Sorry."  
He didn't know why he was apologising, or what for really; he was sure as hell Luke didn't know either, but at this point it was more of a natural reflex. Thankfully, Luke chose not to comment on it.  
"Anyway, photography books are over there." Calum said, quickly pointing to the section a few shelves down, before moving over to the main desk. "Just let me know if you need anything."  
"Thanks dude...wait...how did you know I took photography?"  
Fuck. Luke was going to think he was a freak. A stalker. A weirdo. You weren't meant to remember those kinds of details about people, those were the type of things you got told about and forgot- or pretended to, at the very least. He'd remembered and now he looked sad and pathetic, like he had nothing better going on in his life, nothing more important, and that was actually pretty true but Luke didn't need to know that-  
"Michael told me." He finally blurted out, sucking in a breath of relief when Luke just smiled.  
"Did he now?"  
"Mm hmm." Michael was going to kill him.  
"Thanks for the help, bro." Luke patted him on the shoulder before trotting off to the photography section, and Calum wasn't entirely convinced it was just the library advice he was grateful for.

The minute he was out of sight, Calum's shoulders slumped in relief, and he wanted to scream at himself. Why did he have to go and ruin everything all the time? Fuck his awkwardness and everything about him and why was there a god stood in front of him?  
"Hey." With a voice thick and strong like honey, Calum's secret infatuation stood before the desk, caramel locks windswept and curled, bright eyes twinkling at him.  
This man- _this man_ \- had been ruining Calum's life (even more than it already was).  
Not once did it say in the job description that everyday this beautiful being was going to walk in here and greet him and sweep him off his feet with a smile? It wasn't fair. Calum may make fun of Michael (time to time) for his crushes and possible interests, but this was beyond ridiculous. This was worse. Calum hadn't even told anyone, like he was keeping this stupidly childish crush a secret. It was his secret. And Calum was actually pretty good with secrets.

He didn't know his name, only knew his face and his strong tanned biceps and the fact that he came in here every morning almost as soon as the doors opened, and he'd stay in here for hours sometimes, simply scrawling and scribbling things down, crossing them out again, sipping from his coffee with this beautiful unaware elegance that Calum craved and adored- yet Calum was too scared to ask his name. Too scared to even talk to him. And Calum would sigh as he watched the boy from behind his desk, because he was held back by his mind and everything inside of it, and the boy would never like him anyway- why would he? He was beautiful, stunning, too breathtaking to be real in such a shitty world, whereas Calum was just...Calum. Calum with his dirty-looking skin and his messy untameable hair and his too big nose and his bushy eyebrows and horrible, horrible personality that was just impossible to love.

That was the hardest thing. Being in love with someone who would never- could never- love you back. And Calum knew it wasn't real love, because he didn't even know this man's name; it was pathetic. But every time he'd walk in here, steaming coffee fogging up his glasses and his hazel eyes twinkling and his rosy lips twitched up into the sweetest of smiles, and Calum would freeze-

Frozen. He stood there frozen, mouth hanging open as he just marvelled at the man's face. And the man let him, like he knew that he was gorgeous, like it was a daily occurrence- and really, it was, because Calum did this (completely unintentionally) most days, and would end up a blushing mess- which was where he was now.

"Hello? Earth to..." The man peered in to study Calum's name badge, before smiling and straightening up again. "Calum?" He paused in thought, his smile widening. "It suits you."  
He rapped his knuckles on the desk softly in a quick beat, before whistling to himself and gliding off to the corner with all the comfy leather sofas that sometimes Calum wishes he could just curl up on and sink into and never emerge- like now, for example.  
"Fuck." He cursed, hands shaking as he pretended to busy himself with a nearby stack of books. "Fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this- as you can tell Cal's a lil sad but Ashton will come into it more soon and the Cashton will commence haha. Im gunna keep it Muke-centric though (hopefully oops), next update should be up soon


	3. I need you here tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from If It Means A Lot To You by A Day To Remember.

Walking home in an unfamiliar city weighed down by a shit ton of old papery books about cameras really wasn't Luke's cup of tea- not to mention the fact that the blanket of grey in the sky had melted since he'd entered the library earlier with Calum, and it was now raining. _Great_.

Also, he was lost. Entirely, completely, hopelessly lost. When he'd asked Calum for Michael's phone number earlier, it really hadn't been one of those emergency numbers- he'd had very different plans indeed- but if he ever wanted to get home and avoid being struck by an imminent lightning bolt, Luke didn't see what other choice he had. Calum's shift still went on for a couple more hours, and the brown boy had seemed more than content staring dreamily at the mysterious dirty blond in the leather jacket from where he was perched behind his desk, so Luke couldn't exactly ask him for help. He hadn't even known Michael for a day, yet even thinking about the fiery hair or emerald eyes sent his heart into overdrive. Fucking fantastic.

When he'd left home, he hadn't exactly planned on falling head over heels in love with the boy living across the corridor- let alone the very moment he arrived. As his cold fingers slipped over the slippery wet screen of his phone, Luke cursed under his breath, taking shelter under a nearby tree as it started to ring. When it'd rung twice, three times, four times, Luke was scared Michael wasn't going to pick up- maybe he didn't answer unknown numbers, and he almost certainly didn't want to venture out in the rain to rescue Luke's sorry ass- when suddenly it picked up, and Luke was greeted with a soft "hello?" from the boy with the voice that reminded him of warmth and summer.

"Michael? It's Luke." He forced out through chattering teeth, hugging his soaking jacket tighter around his slim shaking frame.   
"Luke!" Michael's voice was considerably brighter now he knew who was on the other end, and Luke smiled to himself.   
"What's up?"  
"Well, uh- haha, um, I'm sorta lost, I guess," Luke said sheepishly, and his smile melted into a grin at the sound of Michael's giggle ringing down the line and cutting straight through the static.   
"Okay, I'll come get you, what can you see?"  
"There's, like..." Luke span around in search for something Michael could possibly recognise, shaking his sopping fringe out of his eyes, wincing when the cold droplets spattered his cheeks. "...a restaurant? And there's a McDonalds, and like, a clothes store I think?"  
"Say no more. On my way Lukey."  
And with that, Michael hung up, leaving Luke blushing to himself like an idiot. How was he already so far gone? This time yesterday, he wasn't even aware of Michael's very existence. Now he was giggling giddily and his stomach was bursting with butterflies and Michael was great.

Maybe it'd been the right choice coming here after all. After his parents kicked him out- that's right, he didn't run away- Luke had had no hope. Maybe he'd exaggerated the details of his departure from his family home to Michael just a teeny tiny bit, but Michael was cool. He had tattoos, and piercings and hair dye and really, Luke just wanted to impress him. So he'd told him he ran away. And Michael seemed pretty impressed by that. It just wasn't the truth.

When Luke began failing the only subjects his parents actually wanted him to succeed in, they weren't happy to say the least. They pushed him harder, to the point where Luke was having a nervous breakdown every other day. But they didn't care. And Luke became the unhappiest he'd ever been in a long time. Because he didn't want to be a lawyer- why was there a problem with that?  
Luke was in love with photography. Had been since his dad first lent him his old dusty camera, and Luke had spent weeks snapping everything and anything he could find- he loved the sound the shutter made when it clicked, and the way that something beautiful could be preserved in a lens _forever_. And he told his parents as much, that maybe he could do that instead of law- but no.

"I wish I'd never given you that camera."  
"Photographers don't get paid well."  
"You're much better off being a lawyer."  
"Don't you want to make us proud?"  
Luke wanted to scream. Because of course he wanted to make them proud, but he wasn't smart like Jack or Ben. He was _creative_ , always had been. Why was it frowned upon?  
He'd argued with them to the point where apparently they couldn't even bare the sight of him anymore. They cast him out on the street like he was broken, useless, a waste of space. They didn't want him. Didn't want the stupid son who was only good at taking photographs.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of feet slapping against the wet pavement behind him, and he turned to see Michael running towards him, a smile and wet hair plastered on his face. _Oh_.   
"Hey," Michael greeted, jogging over towards where Luke was huddled.   
"Uh...hey.."  
Michael frowned, eyebrow piercing quirking slightly as he did.   
"You okay?"  
"Yeah...it's just...I t-thought maybe y-you had a car..."  
Michael blinked at him before bursting into stitches of laughter.   
"A car?" He giggled breathlessly. "I'm a uni student living in a block of flats."  
Luke laughed too at the ridiculousness of the situation, and the way Michael's soaking hair swung around as he shook the water out of it like a dog, and he decided that yes, he really did like Michael.   
"Don't know why I expected you to have one," he agreed. "Wishful thinking, I suppose."  
"C'mon." Michael eventually said softly, wrapping his long fingers around Luke's small wrist and giving a gentle hug. "Let's go."  
Luke smiled, and allowed Michael to drag him back towards the apartment block.

By the time they got back, there wasn't a single inch of dry skin on Luke's body. The city may have been nice, but the weather was awful.   
He was certain he looked like a drowned rat- which was embarrassing, to say the least- but Michael didn't seem to mind.   
"You can come back to mine for a bit, if you want. Calum won't be home for a bit."  
Luke was pretty sure that Michael wasn't implying anything directly, but it definitely sounded like it; his heart raced in his chest as he slowly nodded. Yes, yes and yes. Perhaps he dreamt the wink that Michael sent him then, but either way, it turned him into a flustered mess as he brushed his damp hair out of his eyes.   
"I-I...um, yeah, I just need-" Luke blushed as Michael chuckled at him, gesturing desperately towards his own apartment over his shoulder when his words failed to unstick from his tongue.   
"Clothes." He finally forced out, and Michael raised an eyebrow. "These are all wet."  
"Gotcha." Michael smirked, turning to walk back into his own apartment after swiftly unlocking the door, leaving Luke standing in a puddle of rainwater and embarrassment.

It took him longer than anticipated to peel off his too-tight jeans- even longer than usual, due to how wet they were- but somehow even after he'd done all that and changed, Michael was still half-dressed when Luke barged into the room without a second thought.   
"Shit, fuck, sorry-"  
 _He wasn't really all that sorry_.   
Michael didn't react, however. As he stood there in just his jeans, Luke allowed his eyes to slowly venture dangerously low, down past Michael's face, trailing over his pale white skin traced with inky bold black tattoos, watching as Michael shuddered under his gaze.   
The tension in the air was thick- too thick to breathe- and Luke knew that this was past the point of "an unfortunate accident". His eyes finally met Michael's again, green and piercing, like he was trying to predict Luke's next move. Luke just stood, staring, letting his tongue ghost over his lips ever so slightly as if to dare Michael, lure him in. He was a tease, and he knew it. But it worked.

Michael was moving quickly towards him, the floorboards creaking as he went, and before he'd even reached Luke, Luke's fresh top was already discarded and lying on the floor in a heap. Luke was too dizzy and exhilarated to really properly register where it landed.   
They were on each other in seconds, Michael's hands tightening around Luke's bare hips, lips locking in a kiss that Luke could feel heating up his cheeks already.   
Was this really happening? Shit. He was kissing Michael. He didn't even know his last name...but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was kissing Michael.

They were up against the wall now, Michael moving down to suck bruises into Luke's neck, skimming over his Adam's apple. Luke gasped at the feeling, burying his hands in Michael's fluffy red hair as he squirmed under his touch. Michael must've done this before; he was almost too good. Luke wondered briefly who with, but was snapped out of his thoughts by Michael's hand snaking down to cup him through his jeans. He shivered, pressing forward ever so slightly into the touch; he hadn't even realised he'd already been hard. It was humiliating how worked up Michael had got Luke within the space of just a minute. But it felt pretty fucking good.

Luke let out an involuntary moan when Michael squeezed his hand, hips thrusting forward into it. Michael placed another gentle hand on his thigh then, which Luke took as a cue to look down. Michael's fingers lingered above the zipper of his jeans, and he looked up at look, eyebrows shooting up as if to ask for confirmation. Luke just nodded vigorously, squeezing his eyes shut again. Michael was gunna suck his dick. Fuck. Shit. _Yes_.

Everything was moving so fast. Luke hadn't even realised he'd voiced as much until Michael abruptly stopped tugging Luke's jeans down his thighs, looking up at him with concern in his hooded eyes. Luke moaned- he needed Michael to continue- but Michael seemed intent on making sure Luke was comfortable.   
"Are you sure you want this?"  
"Yes-" Luke breathed impatiently. "It's just...I don't even know your full name."  
Michael smiled, big and wide and reassuring, slowly turning his attention back to Luke's legs.   
"Michael Gordon Clifford." He said, looking pleased with himself as he finally got Luke's jeans past his thin knees.   
"Luke Robert Hemmings. What are you- oh, shit- studying?" Luke shivered as Michael's knuckles brushed gently past his hard on.   
"Music." Michael smirked, yanking Luke's boxers down and letting his angry erection spring up again his creamy stomach.  
"Ph-photography."  
"I know." Michael murmured.   
"Wha-?"  
"You told me yesterday, silly."  
"Oh. Yeah..."  
Michael licked a stripe up the underside of Luke's cock, kissing the tip softly, and Luke couldn't contain himself anymore. He moved his hips desperately towards Michael, panting when Michael pinned him by his hips against the wall.   
"Please," he begged, not caring how pathetic he sounded or that they were doing this in Michael's lounge. "I n-need your mouth."  
And apparently, that was all it took for Michael to finally wrap his dark lips around Luke's length and give him the friction he so desperately craved.

Luke moaned when Michael began to bob his head back and forth, his fingers working what his mouth couldn't. He locked his fingers into Michael's red locks again, allowing his hips to fuck ever so slightly down Michael's throat. Michael was good, didn't seem to mind Luke's helpless movements, taking more than Luke could ever have imagined possible down his throat. Michael began to speed up, and Luke felt the tightening began to increase in his stomach, his hips speeding up a bit, and his arms pushing Michael ever so slightly further into his cock. He threw his head back, swallowing thickly as his eyes squeezed shut, whimpering as he felt Michael gag around him.

His cock hit the back of Michael's throat, and that was all it took. Luke came with a cry, spilling into Michael's mouth, and Michael swallowed all of it like he was thirsty for Luke. His entire body shuddered as Michael continued to work him through it, finally releasing Michael's hair when he began to wince with oversensitivity.   
"That was amazing..." He breathed, as his cock twitched and softened. He let his head rest against the wall as he puffed heavily, his forehead hot with sweat. All he was met with was silence.   
"Mike?"   
When Michael didn't respond again, Luke finally let his head roll forward until his chin was resting on his chest to look down at Michael. The boy was still on his knees, lips swollen and red, but he wasn't looking at Luke.   
Luke followed his horrified gaze towards the door, blanching when he saw who stood there.

"Shit, Cal-" Michael finally seemed to move into action, fumbling fingers pulling up Luke's pants before Luke even had a chance to react, trying to save Luke's dignity as well as his own.   
The dark haired boy just gaped at them, his soaking hair plastered to his forehead as he slowly let go of the door handle he'd previously been holding. Luke hadn't even heard the door open, and wondered how long Calum had been stood there. His heart thudded in his chest as he stood, frozen, watching as Michael tried to move towards Calum.

"No, no no-" Calum moved back, holding his hands out in front of him defensively. "You are not coming anywhere near me like that, Michael Clifford."  
He pointed towards Michael's hands and face, and Luke blushed furiously when he realised that some had missed Michael's mouth. _Gross_.   
"Oh. Oops," Michael laughed with a sheepish smile. Luke didn't understand how he could be so calm about the situation. Personally, he was waiting for the ground to swallow him up. That would've been perfect, right about now.   
When Calum just raised an eyebrow, Michael ducked his head ashamedly. "Sorry, Cal."  
Calum snorted then, skirting around Michael and Luke warily in the direction of what had to be his room. "By all means, don't let me stop you!"   
His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he finally disappeared round the corner, shaking his head in exasperation as he went. If that wasn't the most embarrassing moment of Luke's life, well, he wasn't sure what was.   
He stood against the wall, before groaning and throwing his head back again.   
He only looked down when he heard Michael laughing, and stated at him in disbelief.

"Jesus Christ," Luke muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh, punching Michael playfully on the arm when he got close enough.   
"We should do that again some time." Michael mused, the giggle still sparking in his voice.   
And who was Luke to turn down an offer like that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this update, will probs be quite a bit more smut to come lol idk


	4. Tell me what you're running from

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Runaway by sELF.

Looking over his shoulder. Always looking over his shoulder. That was how Ashton lived, even in a nice city like this. There was no escaping who he used to be.

Brendon: where's my shit, Ashton?  
Ash: I haven't got it anymore.   
Brendon: well then where the fuck is it??  
Ash: I lost it  
Brendon: bullshit  
Brendon: I will find you.   
Brendon: and when I do, you're gunna regret crossing me Irwin. You should never have left.

He was probably right. When Ashton had taken off, left his old life behind- he'd always known it'd catch up to him. When you had a job- if you could even call it that- like he did, it always caught up to you. So maybe making off with as many of the drugs as he could from the city's local suppliers- which he'd once worked for (it wasn't something he was proud of)- wasn't his greatest idea, but he needed the money if he ever wanted to get away. And considering the fact that his alcoholic mother had _kicked him out_ the second she discovered his real source of income he was using _entirely to support her and his sibling_ s, he didn't see where else he was going to get it. He needed to leave. There was nothing there for him anymore. And even if it meant running and hiding for the rest of his life- Ashton had happily seized the opportunity.

They'd trusted him, Brendon and the others. Of course they had- Ashton had been one of the best suppliers they'd had for years. Speedy delivery, quick and easy and efficient. But after his mum had virtually disowned him, what'd been the use in carrying on? Luckily, it'd been a big delivery- perfect. He'd had taken it all, ran far away where it'd never reach the person it was supposed to.

Ashton wasn't a genius, but he knew how to hide. When Brendon had noticed he was gone, he'd texted him. Endlessly. Ashton had replied, and then taken the battery out of his phone and crushed it. All safe there. But these guys- they were dangerous. They had contacts. Ashton had watched Brendon and the others mercilessly beat, torture and even kill those who dared to challenge them. One guy- Tyler- who'd been stupid enough to take just a little bit, thinking it wouldn't be noticeable, and then turn up to work again the next day- had ended up lying on the floor with his brains splattered on the wall.

Ashton knew you didn't mess with them. But really, what did he have left to lose? Ashton had contacts too- nowhere near as many as Brendon- but enough to bribe someone to get him a place at a uni far, far away- somewhere inconspicuous to keep his head down- just for the meantime, anyway.

Ashton was good at writing- pretty fucking brilliant, actually, if he didn't say so himself- always had been, regardless of his shitty education. So there was that. And there was also the giant bag of weed he was forced to carry around in his backpack everyday, in fear of the maids back at the shitty hostel he was staying at finding it. _That_ \- would be bad. And, okay, maybe bringing marijuana to school everyday was another one of Ashton's terrible ideas, but what other choice did he have?

He was just waiting for Brendon to catch up to him, because he knew it was going to happen someday soon. And he'd end up just like Tyler- one of the unlucky ones. But for now, he'd just have to keep his head down and be careful. Careful.

"Careful!"  
Ashton was snapped out of it by the contact of another body against his, and the disgruntled squeak as the person who'd rushed into him fell to the ground. Fuck. His first day, and he'd already been an inconvenience.   
The person was hunched over, hurriedly scrabbling- paints?- off the floor, and back into their bag. Ashton felt a pang of guilt, crouching down to help the person who he'd knocked to the ground, although he wasn't entirely sure if it was actually his fault.   
  
"Sorry," Ashton said, "I should've been looking where-"  
His breath hitched in his throat when the chocolate brown eyes that met his were the same ones he'd been admiring every day for the past three weeks- and the dark messy curls were the same ones that shon even in the dim lights of the old library, and the hands were the same shaky golden ones that always scanned his books, and the perfect full lips were the same ones Ashton had been so tempted to kiss from the second he'd first laid eyes on them. _Calum_. He'd only really properly talked to the boy once, and even then, the conversation had been pretty one sided- but Ashton never forgot a name or a face- especially not one as pretty as the one before him.

Calum's eyes seemed to widen in realisation, and Ashton knew he'd recognised him, before he quickly ducked his head again, blushing as his eyebrows drew together in a nervous frown, and went back to collecting the discarded paint.   
"Sorry," Ashton said much more softly this time, not wanting to scare him off. When Calum didn't respond, Ashton picked up one of the paints to inspect it much more closely- it looked professional, expensive- Calum was obviously an art student.

Ashton smiled when he noticed the colourful paint marks staining the boy's skin; dark red and ochre shades making Calum's caramel skin glow even more in the glistening sunlight that was streaming down on them in the middle of the university courtyard. Ashton smiled even wider when he realised that the art block was virtually right next to English- they'd probably be seeing a lot of each other over the following term- or for as long as Ashton stayed here, at least.

"Can I- um, can I please..." Calum's cheeks turned an even darker pink as he pointed shyly at the paint Ashton still had in his hand, and Ashton smiled.   
"Of course. Sorry." He placed the dark blue oil paint into Calum's waiting hand, watching the boy intently.   
"I'm sorry." Calum murmured, as he stood up to scurry away. He was fast, but Ashton was faster. He matched Calum's pace easily, staying by his side all the way towards the bench Calum was making his way towards.   
Calum's eyes widened when he noticed Ashton next to him, following him, and he hugged his notebook a little tighter to his chest. When he just opened his mouth and then shut it speechlessly, Ashton couldn't help the small laugh that tumbled out of his mouth.   
"You recognise me, right?"  
Calum blinked at him, before nodding wordlessly. Ashton figured he didn't really talk much.   
"My name's Ashton. Ashton Irwin."  
"Calum Hood."  
Ashton resisted the urge to point out that he already knew that, and instead took to watching the boy's face, a small smile playing on his lips. He really was something else. Something new and curious and beautiful that Ashton wanted more of.

He knew he was being selfish, because who was he to drag this pure, sweet human being into the shit storm that was inevitably the life of Ashton Irwin? He was being selfish. Selfish, greedy and spiteful. Yet he couldn't stop himself. Anyway, it was just casual conversation. Nothing more. A little chat wouldn't hurt anyone. Right?

"Is it alright if I sit here?" He said softly when they reached the bench. The last thing he wanted was to make him uncomfortable.   
Calum nodded with a quiet hum, much to Ashton's relief, and he allowed himself to sink down onto the soft brown wood beside the soft brown boy with the soft brown hair and the soft brown eyes.

"So, what are you studying?" And really, it was an obvious question given the previous escapade- Ashton was only trying to make conversation- but Calum mumbled out an answer anyway.   
"Art."  
Ashton smiled and nodded, waiting for Calum to expand. He didn't.   
"I'm studying literature."  
"Ah."  
Maybe he'd come at a bad time. Maybe Calum didn't actually want him to sit there and was just too polite to say otherwise. Maybe he'd miscalculated entirely.  
"I'll, uh...I'll just go," he smiled again, before pushing himself up off the bench and walking away. He was off the grassy expanse, strolling back along the dappled grey cobbles of the path, when finally-  
"No, wait!"   
Ashton stopped in his tracks, pulling his hands out of his pockets to clasp them behind his back as he turned to face Calum once more.   
Calum looked baffled, as if he hadn't even meant to say it.   
"I mean...you don't, uh, have to leave. If you don't want. Like, um, you can s-stay-"  
"Okay." Ashton smiled as widely as he could as he walked back over, resuming his previous position next to the smaller boy.   
There was a small pause, where the sound of the buzz of bees and gentle breeze filled Ashton's ears, but all he could see and feel was Calum next to him, chewing nervously on his lip.   
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to seem rude, it's just..."  
"Don't worry, I get it," Ashton giggled, running a hand through his honeycomb hair.

"So, you work at the library right?" He wasn't going to let the conversation die again. He had the golden opportunity to talk to this boy; no way was he throwing it away.   
"Mmm. Only been there for a month, or so. Gotta pay for accommodation, and what not," Calum smiled sheepishly, scratching the nape of his olive neck where the dark hair formed little baby curls.   
"Oh, are you staying at the university?"  
"No, an apartment down the road. Are you?"  
Ashton shook his head, not bothering to brush away some of the curls that fell into his eyes.   
"A hostel. Couldn't afford anything else; I'd need a roommate."  
Calum hummed again, turning his attention to his bag to pull out a drink. Ashton allowed himself to lean back, reaching his arms around so he could rest his head, admiring Calum's long, bronze arms as they worked to undo the cap of the bottle. He was so lost in the way that they moved, so lost in everything Calum did, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when Calum abruptly snapped towards him.

"I know!" Calum said excitedly, dimples creasing his eyes and cheeks, and Ashton's heart leapt up into his throat, because if that wasn't the most fucking _adorable_  thing he'd ever seen. And Ashton had completely forgotten what they'd previously been talking about; he'd been so intent on watching Calum's every move, hardly even daring to blink in fear of missing something the boy did, until the topic of roommates sprang back to mind, and his lovesick heart instantly skipped to the conclusion that maybe Calum wanted him as a roommate, that they could live together and travel together and sleep together-

"I know who you can room with!" Calum elaborated, and Ashton felt his heart sink a little, because Calum didn't sound like he was talking about himself anymore. He hadn't lost hope yet, though, and forced out an exaggeratedly curious "oh?"

"Luke-"  
Oh. Well.   
"-my roommate's fuck buddy!"  
What?  
"Been going at it for about a week, now."  
Uh...  
"Anyway, he lives right across the hall from me."  
 _Better_.   
Ashton could work with that. Suddenly, his curiosity peaked again, and he let the interest show on his face.   
"Ah, is he looking for a roommate?"  
"Yep. Has been for a while, but nothing's shown up. You're perfect!" Calum blurted out with a beam, before his cheeks heated up again when he realised what he'd said, and the tips of his ears turned a rosy red. Ashton could've cooed at him, but luckily he had some self-restraint. Some.

"As long as you're not, like, a murderer or something." Calum laughed, sweet and light like treacle, and Ashton's eyebrow quirked playfully.   
"I mean, I'm not saying I think you're- uh, like, you don't look like a murderer, I just meant-"  
"Don't worry," Ashton soothed him with a smile of his own, "I'm not."

It was the truth. He wasn't. Had barely harmed a living thing in his life. But he couldn't help but feel guilty as he sat here, pretending to be completely innocent and fooling the boy entirely. It wasn't Calum's fault- Ashton was a pretty good liar. And as bad as he felt accepting the offer to move in with Luke, to drag both Calum and his friends into this mess, Ashton couldn't turn it down. But really, when it involved moving in opposite a boy only made for dreams, could you blame him? No one in their right mind would turn down an offer _that_ good- Ashton was sure.

"Anyway, I'd better be off."  
Ashton's heart sank a little more, because he happily would've sat and talked to Calum on that bench forever.   
"Oh, alright. I suppose I'll see you around, yeah?"  
Calum blushed, before smiling and nodding like he'd love nothing better. It made Ashton's heart skip a beat.   
"I'll check with Luke for you, and then I'll let you know...see you around." His smile widened, plump lips revealing a neat set of white teeth that seemed to gleam in the shadowy beams of sun shining down through the leaves of the trees.   
Ashton sent him a small wave before Calum was on his way, walking quickly across the courtyard and skilfully dodging other students on their way to class. No one heeded him any attention or gave him a second glance. Like he was invisible.   
It was a shame, Ashton thought, because Calum really was the most beautiful thing he'd ever set eyes upon. Not any of the "stunning" girls that Brendon always seemed to have on his lap, caked in cheap makeup and a blunt between their long, chipped nails. Not any air-headed model or celebrity on TV, with a nice ass or great hair- no. Calum. Small, shy Calum, who no one seemed to appreciate. The world was a fucked up place- Ashton knew that from experience- but Calum made him feel like everything was better. That everything was fine.

And so, for once, as Ashton watched Calum quickly move away through the crowd, he didn't care about what was in the past. Things were getting better. He didn't care about Brendon, or the drugs literally resting on his shoulders, or anything else. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe- Ashton didn't even bother looking over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyyy Cashton, next chapter should be up soon


	5. Love you more than words can say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from At Least It Was Here by The 88.

Banging your ridiculously attractive neighbour everyday for two weeks was Michael's idea of bliss. Sure, university had started now so there wasn't as much time in the day for such activities, but they always managed to slip _something_ in. It was kinda hot. Luke was kinda hot. But he was nothing more than that- kinda hot.

It was no strings attached, friends with benefits- nothing more. Nothing more. Michael most certainly, definitely, 100% was not catching feelings. Nope. Not at all. Not one single bit.

Shit, who was he kidding? He'd fucking fallen in love with Luke from the second he'd laid eyes upon him. It was scary, was what it was. Michael had never had someone who made him want the earth to swallow him up- who made him want to jump off a cliff, and do somersaults of happiness in a field full of flowers and butterflies all at once. Love was scary. It was dangerous, and blind, and Michael didn't like it. He hated it. But he loved it too. Like, what the fuck?

It was in the middle of his mid life crisis (even though he wasn't exactly mid life yet) as he buried his face into the sofa cushions and groaned, that Calum walked in, throwing his coat down with his shoes and proceeding to disappear into his room. _Rude_.   
"Calllllllll," Michael moaned, his head poking up from where it'd previously been nestled in the tatty leather, "Caaaaaaaalllllll-"  
"What?" Calum sighed in exasperation, freezing in the doorway, turning to look at Michael and sighing even louder. "What's wrong?" He asked, both his expression and voice slightly softer.   
"I'm confused," Michael pouted, and Calum submitted, making his way over to sit next to him. Before he could relax, Michael had him in a vice-like grip, and with a small squeal on the part of the younger boy, Michael rolled them over so the two were pressed flush against each other, bodies melting together as they sunk down into the cushions. Calum grumbled a little, but wrapped his arms around Michael nonetheless. Michael loved cuddles.

"Michael, I've got a project," Calum whined, yet proceeded to nestle his head further into the crook of Michael's neck. "What're you confused about?" He must've sensed that something was wrong, because Michael only ever requested (or forcefully took) cuddles when he was upset.   
"Luke."   
Michael felt Calum's arms stiffen around him. "What about him?"  
"...I think I love him."  
"You said that very same thing to me two weeks ago, Michael. What's the _matter_?"  
"I'm scared. I don't like...love," Michael's face screwed up like he'd tasted something sour, causing Calum to giggle a bit.   
"What're you scared of?" He chuckled lightly, letting Michael nuzzle the top of Calum's fluffy head.

Calum was great at hugs, Michael decided. He loved Calum's hugs. He liked Luke's hugs a lot, too. They were warm, and safe, and firm and- could he really just not think about this boy for at _least a minute?_ Michael felt ill, like there was something wrong with him- something so strong inside him that it threatened to swallow him up entirely, consume him until he was wallowing in it, living in it, breathing it all in. It was light and heavy and dark and bright and Michael wanted it to stop. No strings attached. That was what they'd both said, even though Michael knew that, for one, he definitely wanted more. And the way that Luke tended to flutter his dark shimmery eyelashes a lot more than necessary, or constantly play with his lip piercing to the point where it almost looked painful, or the way that his top rode up sometimes when he moved and he'd never pull it back down- told Michael that Luke probably felt exactly the same. Just Michael wasn't brave enough to actually say. Neither of them were, and it was ripping him apart.

"Everything," he eventually sighed, and Calum pulled him in tighter.   
"You'll figure it out," the dark haired boy soothed, before pulling back to look at Michael with sudden realisation in his eyes. "Speaking of Luke-" He spoke quickly like he always did when he was excited, "I know who he can room with."  
"Oh, really?" He felt his own eyebrows draw into a line, not even bothering to hide his surprise, because if Michael was being real- Calum didn't talk to anyone but Michael, and perhaps occasionally Luke, and his teachers. But unless Calum was about to suggest his old woman of an art professor to move in with Luke, Michael didn't have a clue. Michael also didn't fail to notice the way that Calum's golden cheeks became lightly dusted with the soft pink of a blush, and his eyes seemed hazy and far off. Now Michael wasn't a genius, but he recognised that look. And now he _really_ hoped that Calum wasn't about to suggest his art teacher.

"His name's Ashton." Calum's fingers squeezed Michael's arm subconsciously a little when he said the name, and Michael bit back a laugh. Either Calum wasn't even trying to hide the fact he had an obvious crush, or he was just an extremely bad actor- either way, Michael had never seen him look so star struck.   
"Ashton, hmm?"  
"Yeah..." Calum sighed happily, missing Michael's mock tone of curiosity completely. "I met him today."  
"You only met him today?" Alarm bells went off in Michael's head. This guy could be anyone- a murderer, a psychopath, a druggie-  
"No no no, Ashton isn't like that," Calum rushed out, his eyes widening. "Ashton's nice. He wouldn't hurt a fly."  
Michael's eyebrow remained raised, but he didn't comment any further. He trusted Calum's judgement more than he did anyone else's.   
"Oh, Ashton," Michael mimicked, his voice going all high and teasing. Calum's eyes widened even more, before creasing up with frustration. He finally managed to wriggle out of Michael's grip, his arms folding across his chest. "Ashton's lovely! He wouldn't hurt a fly!" Michael teased relentlessly, until Calum swatted his head. It was fun winding Calum up. They were like brothers, he and Calum, and sometimes Michael just couldn't help himself.

"It's not like that." Calum sighed, shoving Michael off when he started making kissy noises. "Just talk to Luke, will you?"  
"Why don't you?" Michael asked playfully, lunging to grab Calum again, but Calum skilfully sidestepped him.   
"Because you'll probably be seeing him _later_ , idiot." Calum retorted, and Michael didn't have to ask what that meant. He blushed and pouted, and Calum just grinned in triumph, before disappearing to his room to do whatever it was that Calum did.

When had Michael become so predictable? Maybe this wasn't healthy. Maybe he needed to stop seeing Luke so much, or just do things that normal friends did, instead of fucking each other into another dimension. But he couldn't stop himself. Luke was like a magnet, too strong to pull away from. Luke was everything that Michael wasn't, and everything that Michael was. Luke was...ugh, fuck. Jesus, fucking, fuck fuck-

"Fuck!" Luke squealed as Michael barged into his apartment. Fuck.   
Luke was...what was he...  
" _What_?"  
Humping...  
"Ohmygod, Mike, I-"  
...the sofa...  
"Luke, what're you..."  
...naked.   
"Jesus fucking Christ, Luke!"  
"Oh my god, Michael, I'm sorry, I just..."  
"You just- what?" Michael breathed heavily at the sight of the blond boy with his legs straddling the arm of the couch, his bare hips still rutting shamelessly against the soft material even in front of Michael, like he was so desperate he couldn't even contain it.   
"Couldn't wait..." Luke panted, becoming less flustered and more worked up again, letting a long, low moan slip through his wet pink lips.

And it was a real fucking turn on; Michael couldn't deny that seeing Luke so desperate and needy made his dick hard almost instantly, so why let it stop there?  
"Go on, then," Michael said, letting a smirk tug on the corners of his lips, "keep going."  
And Luke gaped at him, eyebrows creasing like he couldn't quite believe Michael wasn't going to relieve him, but he carried on anyway, turning his attention back to the chair and fucking roughly against it, naked body twisting and shaking as he sped up. It was hot, needless to say, but Michael didn't let it show- at least, he tried not to. He stood there with his arms folded across his chest, trying to look as unimpressed and as disinterested as possible- because he knew Luke had a thing for that- but truth be told, Michael wanted nothing more than to pounce on the blond boy.   
Luke's thrusts quickened even more, leaning heavily on his arms as he braced himself against the back of the sofa, letting his hips roll and do all the work. His back began to arch, eventually, his toes curling, and Michael watched for that face he adored so much- Luke's face would scrunch up, his eyes squeezing shut so tight you'd think they'd never open again, his mouth parting slightly and his eyebrows frowning so hard tiny lines appeared on his forehead, as he approached his much needed orgasm. Michael let out a small groan of his own when Luke came noisily, shooting all over the fabric of the sofa. It was filthy, really, but at this point Michael wasn't sure there was anywhere in Luke's apartment that wasn't like it- let's just say they got- _messy_ , sometimes.

Luke's arms gave way then, and he collapsed onto his front, panting heavily. Michael just snorted at him, because he had not been expecting that, when he walked in the door.   
"Asshole," Luke breathed, a sleepy smile flicking across his face nonetheless.   
Michael walked over, ignoring how painfully hard he was in his jeans- that could wait. It was as he sat down beside Luke, let his fingers trace over the boy's white skin, watched him as he shivered when Michael's nails ghosted over his sharp shoulder blades and the small of his back, that he realised how completely and utterly fucked he was. He was too far gone. Stupid Michael and his stupid feelings. What if his parents were right? What if he really was pathetic? What if no one would ever love him the way he loved them? He'd always been told his heart was too big- he had too much love to give out, that was inevitably impossible to return. But Michael tried not to let those thoughts haunt him too much.

"I'm not finishing you off, if that's what you're after..." Luke rasped, his throat dry and hoarse the way it always was after Michael...came over.   
"It's not," Michael chuckled fondly. "It's about a roommate, actually."  
Luke seemed to perk up then, and Michael understood. He may have been over there most days, but a lot of the time Luke was by himself- it must've got at least a little lonely.   
The blond boy finally heaved himself off the sofa, aching muscles and tousled hair and all. Michael pressed a gentle kiss to his bony hip before Luke began to pull his clothes back on, finally settling back on the couch with an exhausted sigh.   
"Calum suggested him."  
Luke's eyebrows shot up, but he remained silent, waiting for Michael to continue. Michael took those little pauses that Luke seemed to take here and there as the perfect opportunity to study every little detail of the man's face- the way his skin flushed, and soft white skin turned pink, and the way he could always see the shadow of stubble on Luke's face no matter how often he shaved, and how the black of his lip ring stood out so nicely against the dusky red of his lips, and the tiny flecks of ice in his bright blue eyes, and Michael loved it. Michael loved him. No, no, shit- no he didn't. He only thought he did. Michael was _not_ in love.

"Well?" Luke pressed, arms folding across his chest expectantly. Had he been staring that long? Oops.   
"His name's Ashton. Calum met him yesterday, he-"  
"Yesterday? No way."  
"But Luke, Calum said he was lovely-"  
"He could be anyone!" Luke protested, his eyes wide.   
"Maybe you should just give him a try. Anyway, I'm right across the hall from you. If you get murdered, I'm probably getting murdered too," Michael teased, and Luke giggled, before returning to his previous seriousness and huffing.   
"Fine. But the minute I spot anything dodgy-"  
"Great," Michael smiled before Luke could continue. "Calum will be pleased." Calum would be ecstatic.   
When Luke frowned, Michael continued "think he's got a bit of a crush," and Luke smiled understandingly.

"Foolish young love," the blonde boy mused, leaning back to rest on his hands, and Michael froze, because- what? He tried desperately to read Luke's expression, but he looked as casual as ever, and that just confused him even more, because wasn't that what they had? Young love? Or didn't Luke feel the same way? They were young and in love- young love. Right? No, wrong. They weren't in love. It wasn't love. It was sex. It wasn't the same thing. Michael didn't love Luke, and Luke didn't love Michael. He thought being in love at their age was foolish. So there was no way he was in love with the likes of Michael.

But fuck, did that hurt. It was like when you're in school, and everyone teases you about that one crush you have, and one day you're sat with your crush and everyone makes fun of you, and brings up how you're so in love, and you deny it, of course, because they're sat right next to you- but then your crush denies it too, says something like "no way", and it _hurts_ , because even though you denied it too, you actually do like them, and now you know that they don't like you back and- it just hurts. It was like that. A never-ending cycle of wondering whether what he felt inside was mutual, or if maybe, just maybe- Luke couldn't care less.

"So when can he move in?" Luke asked, playing with his lip piercing again, and his lips were so puffy and swollen and Michael wanted so badly to kiss them- yet he resisted. Why did everything he did have to be so hot? It made things much, much more difficult.   
"I don't know," Michael forced out, swallowing thickly over the lump in his throat, "I'll talk to Calum."  
"You okay?" Luke frowned, seeming to notice the sudden change in Michael's tone. Michael just nodded.   
He'd decided- this wasn't healthy. He couldn't keep doing this, not when Luke clearly didn't feel the same way. Michael knew he read into things way too much, but from the sounds of it, Luke didn't feel the same way even in the slightest. It was a toxic relationship- and one of them was only going to end up hurt. Michael's parents were right. Love was just an illusion. Love was dangerous. And that meant Luke was dangerous.

Fucking. _Luke_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shameless smut


	6. Such a magnificent drain on my energy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Anyways by The Starting Line.

Was Michael acting weird? No, Luke was acting weird. It was just Luke worrying about everything- as per usual. Michael was fine.

But Luke couldn't shake the feeling that maybe Michael didn't like him anymore- maybe Michael got bored easily, and Luke just wasn't enough. He knew that he, personally, wanted more out of their little friends with benefits relationship, but his mind was telling him that Michael didn't, Michael didn't care, Michael didn't _love him_. Luke knew it was just childish, what they had between them, anyway- just childish, physical and meaningless. But when Michael was playing Luke his latest piece on guitar whilst Luke watched on from where he lay on Michael's big soft bed, or tugging at the lobe of his ear with perfectly rounded white teeth and whispering sweet nothings to him, or peppering Luke's fragile skin with kisses that Luke knew, were Michael's soft lips coated in lipstick, would leave his skin entirely covered- it felt like so much more. It felt like love. And maybe love was just an illusion- love wasn't real, it was just a fantasy- but Luke didn't think he'd ever felt anything closer. And so part of Luke wished that he'd never even met Michael, because then he wouldn't even be having this apparent crisis in the first place- but at the same time, Michael was the best goddamned thing that's ever happened to him.

"Luke!"  
Calum. The dark haired boy was walking towards him across the wide university corridor in a way Luke had never seen him move before, arms swinging elegantly and hips swaying just _ever so slightly_ , but that was when Luke noticed the older boy behind him, the same one he'd noticed Calum watching back at the library, and Luke wondered if this same boy was Ashton. He didn't have to wait long to find out.   
"Ashton Irwin," the boy said, giving him a wide dimpled smile as he extended his big hand.   
"Luke Hemmings," he took the hand; it was ridiculously strong.

So this was the guy that was meant to be moving in with him? He seemed nice enough. He could see Calum chewing his lip nervously out of the corner of his eye, as if waiting for Luke's approval. Luke just shot him a reassuring smile, because he didn't see any reason why this guy _couldn't_ move in.   
"Maybe we could get a coffee, or something," Ashton suggested, pulling up his bag strap. And sure, Luke did still have one class left- but there was no harm in skipping _just one_.

He had to admit, when sat in the coffee shop he did tune out of part of the conversation- it was all well and good hearing about Ashton's perfect family life, but it only made Luke feel just that little bit more homesick. Of course, his family was anything but perfect, but that didn't mean he didn't miss them. Calum seemed perfectly content listening to Ashton talking (Ashton could've been talking about his favourite type of grass and Calum still would've listened), but Luke quickly interjected at the next pause, trying not to seem to rude.   
"So, when do you think you can move in?" He swirled his coffee around a bit, smiling at the older boy. Almost immediately, Ashton's face lit up, his eyes twinkling and his lips melting into a grin. It took Luke a little by surprise, because he was acting like he'd just passed some sort of test.   
"You actually want me to?"  
Uh...  
He laughed nervously. "Yeah, of course."  
"Seriously? You're sure?"  
"Mmhmm. It gets a little lonely sometimes. You're more than welcome."  
"Oh wow, thank you!"  
Luke wasn't sure he'd ever met anyone so polite and grateful. Ashton talked a lot about his great family, but from what Luke could tell, he must've had it pretty rough before this, at least. No one was ever that thankful for being allowed to move in to a tiny cramped apartment.

"I can move in anytime," he beamed, and Luke could see Calum not so subtly begging him to let Ashton move in as soon as possible. "I've only got a suitcase with me. Well, not with me, but back at the hotel."  
Now that definitely didn't sound like someone who'd come from the perfect family life, but Luke didn't push it. There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation, and Calum didn't seem to notice anything- he was just being paranoid.

 _Fuck_ \- did Calum just kick him under the table? Calum just kicked him under the table. Luke looked up at him with a scowl, but Calum was just throwing his head towards Ashton, eyebrows raised to get Luke to say something. Now Luke wasn't a genius, but he knew what Calum wanted.   
"...tonight?" Maybe it was too soon. Maybe Ashton didn't even want to move in.   
"Tonight?"  
"Mmm."  
"Sure!"  
 _Well_.

Calum's entire face lit up, and Luke couldn't help but smile a little himself. At least now he had some company- permanent company. Ashton still had to get his stuff, so Luke quickly scribbled down the address on one of the soft white napkins, before they departed. It was only once Ashton had rounded the corner and was definitely out of earshot that Calum exploded- of course.   
"Oh my gosh, _ohmygosh Luke_ -"  
"He's nice," Luke cut him off with a smirk, and Calum beamed at him.   
"Thank you, thank you so much."  
"It's no problem," Luke giggled, patting Calum on the back. "Damn, you really like this dude, don't you?"  
Calum blushed a furious red, ducking his head and kicking at a loose stone on the pavement. "No..." He mumbled, but the small smile never left his face.   
"Yeah, yeah," Luke teased, tucking his hands into his coat pockets as the wind turned them an icy pink, and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence; the only sound was the soft breeze rushing past their ears and cars humming past.

The silence brought all of Luke's previous thoughts back to the surface- it seemed like it was all he could think about nowadays- Michael, Michael, Michael, stuck on a loop inside his head. Just thinking about the red haired boy made Luke's very heart flutter, his stomach tying itself into knots. _Christ_. He couldn't hold it in any longer.   
"Michael-" he blurted out, and Calum's head snapped up, sending him an odd look.   
"...Michael?" He said slowly, trying to get Luke to expand.   
But it was like the words were stuck to Luke's tongue- they refused to roll off and form a coherent sentence. All he could think, taste, smell, see, hear- was Michael.   
"Is he...uh, i-is he...alright?" He forced out, wincing at how awful the sentence sounded when it finally escaped his rapidly drying mouth. Calum just blinked at him, before his deep brown eyes softened with realisation.   
"How'd you mean?"  
And it sounded casual enough, but Luke wasn't stupid- Calum probably just wanted to make sure Luke was talking about what he thought he was talking about, before he accidentally gave anything away. That only made Luke's heart beat faster.   
"Like...he was acting odd, earlier. Around me, I mean."  
Calum just nodded, staring straight ahead. The pause the Maori boy took seemed to last a long, slow, painful and torturous eternity, and Luke could feel his palms start to sweat the same way they did when Michael was pressed up against him, and his heart raced the same way it did when the older boy so much as stepped a foot in the same room as him, and his chest ached with all the feelings he had bottled up inside, and- fuck. _Fuck_.

"He's fine," Calum finally said, and Luke couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing (as selfish as that sounded). "Just confused, I think."  
Luke's head snapped up, but Calum never turned to meet his eyes.   
"Oh?" He choked out, trying desperately to play it off as something casual, but he knew the other boy saw straight through it anyway.   
"About you. Like, he's not sure how to feel."  
Oh god. Oh god, oh godohgod- what did that mean? Did that mean Michael hated him? Didn't Michael like Luke the same way Luke liked Michael? His thoughts ricocheted loosely off the sides of his skull, pounding his head into a slow spiral of "what ifs". Or maybe Michael liked Luke back?   
Why did this have to be so fucking confusing?

Calum was looking at him now, clearly annoyed at himself for giving too much away, chewing nervously at his lip like he was scared Luke was going to tell Michael- but truth be told, Luke wasn't sure he even had the guts to say hello to Michael at the minute.   
"Just give him time," Calum said, and Luke nodded blankly, and felt his lips twist into a grimace. Luke didn't want to give Michael time. He wanted to give Michael himself. He wanted to be Michael's, and Michael to be his. That was what Luke wanted. One big problem- Michael probably _didn't_ want that.

He felt Calum pat him on the back sympathetically, but it barely registered in his disoriented mind. Everything was moving too quickly. The cars going past, his thoughts- whatever the hell he had with Michael.

He didn't bother going to see Michael that evening. And much to his dismay, Michael didn't bother coming to see him either. He'd even left it unlocked despite his mind screaming at him to stop being so damn desperate and hopeful- only for it to not even be touched, let alone opened to reveal a red headed boy with bright green eyes and a smile that could stop a war. Maybe Michael really didn't like him. But Luke knew one thing for sure. He loved Michael. And that certainly wasn't going to change any time soon.

 _Knock_.   
Huh?  
 _Knock_.   
Shit.   
_Knock_.   
Someone was at the door. And somewhere in Luke's heart, no matter how much he tried to deny it, there was the small spark of a desperate lingering hope that maybe, just maybe- it was Michael.

It wasn't. The visitor at the door came in the form of the man with the smooth skin and sparkling hazel eyes- Luke couldn't help the disappointment he felt overwhelm his face, but he smiled nonetheless, and Ashton happily returned it. The older boy hadn't been lying earlier when he'd said he only had one suitcase of luggage, because sure enough, all that Ashton had with him was a singular black case- and it wasn't even that big. But Luke didn't say anything, simply stepping to the side and allowing Ashton in.

"It's nice," Ashton said politely, and Luke was a little taken aback, because- no, it wasn't.   
"That room's yours," Luke said, and maybe it was a little too abrupt and a little too harsh, because the rudeness of his tone was reflected in the confusion that flitted across Ashton's face for the merest of seconds, but the older boy just smiled again- he seemed to smile a lot- and thanked Luke before dragging his suitcase across the rickety wooden floor, painfully loudly, towards the currently empty spare room.

Luke sighed- he had company now, but it still wasn't _Michael_.

Luke: Do you wanna come over?

Shit! Why did he do that? If that wasn't the most desperate, clingy, pathetic thing he'd ever sent-

Mike: Why?

And that was the million dollar question. Why? _Why_? Why did Luke want Michael to come over? Usually he'd blow it off as wanting to blow _Michael_ off, but he couldn't do that now Ashton was here- Luke didn't think he'd be able to live through another Calum incident. Michael's message hurt. Didn't he want to come over? Did he need a reason? Apparently so. His brain was working over time to come up with an excuse; Luke felt sick-

Luke: A couple drinks or something- housewarming for Ashton.

Bullshit. It was bullshit. He just wanted an excuse to see Michael. And the more he read over his response again and again, the worse it sounded. Michael must've seen through it. Michael had to know. But then it occurred to him that Michael hadn't actually met Ashton yet, and maybe this was the perfect opportunity- it made sense. It worked. It was alright.

Mike: Sure. 


	7. Only love is all maroon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Flume by Bon Iver.

Ashton felt like a stranger in his own home. But then again, he supposed he was a stranger, and that this wasn't really his home.

It was still better than the hotel, though. More secure- with less bugs and nosy room service. And more importantly, Calum. Right opposite. That was why he was here, truthfully, no matter what he told the others or even himself. That was why, when the door to the apartment opened and the red haired boy walked in who Ashton suspected was the Michael he'd been told about, he was far more interested in the small boy with the soft skin and coffee complexion that trailed slightly behind, half hidden by the other boy's broad shoulders. Ashton smiled the second their eyes met- he didn't care why they were here- and Calum blushed and ducked his head, a small smile playing on his own plumper lips.

He hadn't realised he was staring until Luke was pressing an icy bottle of beer into the palm of his hand, and the blond boy grinned at him.   
"Just thought we could get to know you a little better," Luke suggested, and who was Ashton to turn down free drink?

They settled on Luke's old tatty sofas, chatting on and off about university, and family and so on, and Ashton joined in halfheartedly because he didn't want to seem rude, but he was much busier watching Calum's every move intently. The way that he picked the flaking orange paint off of his dark skin, or the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at something ridiculous Michael had said, or the way his hair fell into his eyes when he took to staring at the floor when he wasn't part of the conversation. He was quiet- he didn't talk much at all- but Michael and Luke didn't seem to mind, and Ashton certainly didn't. He was peaceful- something Ashton hadn't had in a long time. Serene, quiet, and beautiful.

He'd laugh a lot and join in with the things that Michael said, and Ashton could see the invisible and unbreakable bond between them almost immediately. They were old friends, Ashton quickly learnt, and something about that made his gut twist with an ugly jealousy. He liked Michael, though- the older boy was loud and immature, but spontaneous and smart- he was funny. He also seemed to stare at Luke a lot- Ashton definitely sensed something there; something loving and passionate but with an underlying sense of cold that he couldn't seem to shake. It made him uneasy, but the two were engaged in conversation nonetheless, so he didn't ask. It wasn't his place to, really.

Ashton was new to their little community, didn't know their ways yet. _Yet_. Since when had that become something? He had never planned on staying for long- always moving from one place to the next- but he already found himself slipping into this little safe haven he'd found in the three others. Constantly, he was reminded that what he was doing was selfish, and greedy and wrong- because these people didn't deserve the ugly side effects that came with Ashton- yet he couldn't help himself. He felt safe, comfortable, and he'd only been here for a day. Safety. Something he'd never had the pleasure of in his entire life. And of course, he was anything but safe here, but it felt like it- besides, no one was ever truly completely safe.

Maybe Brendon wouldn't even catch up to him. Maybe he'd just decided to let Ashton go.   
Ashton was smart, so he knew the chances of that were highly, highly unlikely- but there was no harm in hoping. Was there?

Their conversation went on late into the night, and soon, empty beer bottles were scattered around on the faded cream rug that adorned the otherwise bare floorboards, and the alcohol that they'd once contained was instead coursing through their veins, heavy and intoxicating.

Somehow, they'd slipped onto the floor, and were sat in a circle like they were having some kind of sleepover. Ashton's vision was a little blurry, and he felt giddier than usual- the thought of Brendon or any of his other worries failing to even cross his mind- but he'd always prided himself in his ability to hold his drink particularly well. Michael, however, had slowly melted into a puddle of hysteric giggles over the course of the evening, and Luke had been rather energetic at first- now, he just sat watching on, somewhat quieter than earlier. Calum, however, had quickly become tired- his eyes dropping heavily, and his head would slowly begin to fall, until his chin hit his chest and he shook himself awake again. And it was pretty fucking cute.

"So Ashton..." Michael's words were slurred as he let his lips ghost over the rim of his bottle, blowing lightly into the glass and creating a hollow whistle. "What did you say you were studying again?"  
Ashton was sure he'd already answered this question at least ten times in the past hour, but he repeated it again, for the sake of politeness.   
"English lit."  
And then Michael's lips were quirking into a smirk, and Ashton knew what was coming-  
"It's lit." Michael snorted, and then burst into yet another fit of amused giggles, his body slowly sinking even further to the floor as he rolled around with laughter. It really wasn't that funny, but Ashton couldn't help the small huff of laughter that escaped him, and nor could Luke; Calum gave a sleepy giggle from where his head was rested on Ashton's shoulder, his cheek all pushed up against the fabric of Ashton's shirt- _wait_. Since when was Calum there?

The younger boy had seemingly almost fallen asleep, light snores only barely audible over the sound of Michael's hysterical fit, his soft hair tickling the tanned skin of Ashton's neck. Ashton could even smell him- his scent was soft, like vanilla and a gentle breeze. He gingerly raised a large hand to card his fingers through Calum's messy curls; the Kiwi melted into the touch. Ashton let out an involuntary fond chuckle.

He hadn't even noticed that Michael had stopped laughing, when-  
"He likes you, y'know..."  
His head snapped up to where Michael was resting against one of the chairs, casually observing the two from a distance. Ashton blushed. And Ashton _never_ blushed.   
"Doesn't stop going on about you..."

Ashton's heart skipped a beat. Perfect. _No- not perfect_. Calum wasn't allowed to like him. No one was allowed to like him. He'd be here, and then he'd be gone again before anyone could even say goodbye. Ashton was like an autumn leaf, hanging on to a tree by a thread, waiting for the gust of wind to inevitably come and blow him away. No one was allowed to get hurt. He wasn't going to hurt anyone else. So he gulped, clearing his throat, trying desperately to remove the lump that'd begun to form there.

"Ah."  
"Thought you'd be pleased..." Michael drawled on, giggling to himself about something unspoken. Ashton felt his chest tightening with the conflict swelling up inside of him- because yes, he was quite possibly the happiest person in the world because he'd been blessed with Calum's affection- something precious and utterly invaluable- but at the same time, no, he really wasn't pleased- because he couldn't be responsible for Calum- for any of them- getting caught in the crossfire.

"Stop, Michael," Luke sighed from the side of Ashton that didn't have a sleeping boy attached to it, and Ashton felt some of the pressure lift. Truth be told, he'd almost entirely forgotten Luke was there.

"Wha's gotten into you...? That's not what you say when I'm sucking your dick..."

 _Fuck_.   
Yep, there was definitely something there. Ashton didn't miss the way that Luke's entire body tensed up, or the way that his face twisted into a scowl, or the way that his cheeks turned a furious shade of red- but he also didn't miss the fact that Michael just continued to sit there, laughing to himself as he stared at a random patch of the floor, like he hadn't said anything that'd just killed what was left of the rapidly diminishing vibe entirely.

"Fuck you, Michael."  
Luke sounded angry, but his voice wavered at the end. Ashton could sense the hurt. Could almost visibly see the pain.   
"I know you want to...not right now..." Michael slurred, his giggles never ceasing.   
Luke let out an angry noise, getting to his feet. Ashton just watched on silently, and Calum continued to sleep- his snores only growing louder, if anything. It wasn't his place to interfere. But he couldn't help the growing sense of curiosity creeping up on him- he'd probably find out more from Calum later.

His legs were starting to cramp underneath him from where he'd been sat cross-legged on the floor so long, but he didn't dare even move a muscle. The tension in the room was so thick Ashton could've cut it with a knife; he could feel it slowly suffocating him.   
Luke looked at Michael once more, silent fury reflected in his watery eyes, like he was demanding an apology- but he received nothing. It was obvious the younger boy was fighting back tears as he mumbled something about going to bed, before he abruptly turned on his heel and left. Ashton wanted desperately to follow him, but what could he do? He'd barely even known Luke for a day. His helplessness was pitiful, really.   
Michael just rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered by the situation; Ashton wondered if it was a regular occurrence. Or maybe Michael was just piss drunk.

"He'll get over it," the other boy murmured with a roll of his eyes, but all the humour was gone from his voice. Ashton looked back down to Calum, who now was in a deep sleep, his jaw slack against Ashton's chest as he leaned more heavily onto him. He was still beautiful, though- Ashton doubted he could ever be anything other.

 _A blinding flash_. What the fuck? Ashton blinked trying to rid himself of the light spots that dotted his vision, and Calum moaned, trying to bury his face deeper into Ashton's shoulder. Michael just laughed, and Ashton looked up to see him sloppily shaking out a Polaroid picture, putting Luke's camera back onto the coffee table where he'd retrieved it.

"Awwww..." Michael giggled again. "You both look...beaufitul."  
"Beaufitul?"  
"Beautf...beaufi-"  
"I think it's time to get you home," Ashton said as he pulled the beer bottle Michael was taking another swig from out of the red haired boys' hands. He'd expected a shouting, or something, but Michael just muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, and slowly pulled himself up onto shaky legs using the sofa to steady himself.   
Ashton sighed down at the boy still sleeping on his shoulder- he looked so peaceful, and Ashton really didn't want to wake him, but Michael was too drunk to carry himself, let alone Calum, and- Ashton would just have to. Perfect excuse, really.

He scooped the boy up in one quick movement, but it sent his head into a dizzy spin- apparently he'd underestimated how drunk he actually was. Michael quickly grabbed him by the arm, however, steadying them both. Calum didn't stir in his arms.   
"Steady," Michael warned, letting out a small burp, and Ashton giggled. Yep, he was definitely more drunk than he'd anticipated.

Calum's skin was hot against his own as Ashton stumbled after Michael, clicking the door shut to the apartment after him. Calum mumbled something sleepily into the crook of Ashton's arm, but his eyes never opened once. It took a few tries, but soon enough, Ashton had manoeuvred them both into Calum and Michael's apartment; Michael didn't bother flicking the light on.   
"That one there's Calum's..." Michael lazily gestured to the door on the left, rubbing at his eyes. The action made Ashton feel tired himself, and for a moment, he was scared he was going to collapse and drop Calum with him. "G'night..." Michael walked abruptly into the wall.   
Christ.   
The red haired boy groaned, before slipping around the door; Ashton couldn't find it in himself to laugh. He was too tired.

Calum's room was probably what you'd expect. It was pretty neutral- grey curtains, light cream walls, white bed sheets- but he probably hadn't had the chance to redecorate since he'd moved in. The room was cramped and small, but somehow Calum had managed to keep it relatively tidy. The only real messiness of the room was the paint- olive, maroon, midnight navy, any shade you could imagine- all tiny metallic stains, coating the floor in a dotted psychedelic array of colour. The tubes of paint were lying mismatched on the carpet, Calum's bedside table, even Calum's bed itself. Paint brushes were stacked neatly in a mug on the small windowsill of the glass opening in Calum's wall that overlooked the adjacent street, still lit up with lights from cars blurring past. It was dark- obviously, it was way past midnight- but the moonlight pooling in from the window illuminated Calum's paintings, canvases stacked away carefully at the sides, tucked behind a rickety bookshelf and chest of drawers, hidden partially from prying eyes like Calum didn't want anyone to see them. And it was a shame, in Ashton's opinion, because really- they were almost as beautiful as Calum. There was something so abstract and different about them that Ashton simply couldn't put his finger on- so dark and mysterious, yet so pure and wonderful- he loved it.

He shuffled further in, careful not to knock Calum's small stack of CDs off the corner of his desk, towards the bed that hadn't been made at all. Gently, ever so gently (and maybe slightly reluctantly, although he'd never admit that), Ashton laid Calum down on the springy mattress, letting the younger boy roll smoothly out of his arms. Calum mumbled something again as he let his limbs stretch out on the bed, his hand fisting temporarily in the sheet and creating a tiny shadowy pool of cotton twists in the little dim light the blinds permitted to enter the room, before he finally let it go and moved both his hands to curl against his chest. Ashton moved to pull both of Calum's trainers off- thankfully, the old tattered Nikes slid off with ease, and Ashton tucked them quietly under Calum's bed. He considered taking Calum's jeans off for him, because jeans weren't comfortable to sleep in at all- but that was probably weird and creepy. Right? Ashton wasn't sure. He'd never really had...friends, so much. Just people he coexisted with. And even then, he hadn't been particularly good at that.

He stood over Calum, observing with curiosity how his skin turned a soft dewy grey in the low light, and how the glow of the street lamps outside cast large shadows on his cheeks where his long eyelashes were fluttered shut, and the way the pillow pushed Calum's cheek up so it was squishing part of his face up, and Ashton couldn't help the giggle that slid past his lips as he admired the younger boy. But he'd lost track of time; you don't watch people in their sleep, and while Ashton hadn't really had much healthy interaction with other normal people in his life, he knew that much for sure. He pulled the thin blanket up around Calum's shoulders, shuddering when he thought about how cold Calum must get with only that to protect him from the growing chill of the summer autumn nights, and so tucked it in a little tighter around the dark-skinned boy's small frame.

Once he was satisfied that Calum would be at least relatively comfortable throughout the night, Ashton hesitantly turned to leave, barely able to rip his eyes away from the sleeping boy- he was too beautiful. And real beauty was hard to come across in the shitty world they lived in- if there was anything that Ashton had learnt, it was that you savour the precious things, the special things.

His hand was on the cold brass doorknob, chipped and scratched from years of use, squeaky and stiff, and he'd just slowly began to turn it as quietly as possible when-

"Ash?"  
He froze. Calum definitely was not asleep anymore. He turned. Calum was blinking at him with bleary eyes only just cracked open, his dark curly hair tumbling onto the pillow, his fingers fumbling to tug the scratchy blanket even tighter around himself. Ashton smiled. Ashton knew he always smiled when he saw Calum- maybe it looked sort of odd- but he couldn't help it.   
"Mmm?"

"...stay?"


	8. You are surrounding all my surroundings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Holding Onto You by Twenty One Pilots.

Early sun streamed in through the cracks of the blinds, pooling on the floor where Calum must've forgotten to close the curtains last night. His head hurt- felt like it was full of fluff, too full and achy for him to able be to form even a coherent sentence in mind his own...what? He was warm, too- probably because he was still dressed in his clothes, and his blanket felt much softer, and warmer and bigger and heavier than usual... _oh_. That wasn't his blanket.

He shuffled around a bit, slowly, carefully, ignoring the itch of denim against his skin, or the way the sun shone in his bleary eyes as he rolled over to face him- _Ashton_.   
Ashton, in all his beauty, still sleeping peacefully with his arms wrapped tight around Calum's middle, his caramel hair almost sparkling in the golden that seeped into the small room, the dust swirling around him in the bright beams like a radiant aura. He was still dressed too. He was even more beautiful asleep. He was perfect.

Shit- but how'd he even get here? What was he doing here? Was Calum still dreaming? He didn't think so. Calum's dreams were never this good; they were the complete opposite- no, don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think, stop. Had he been drunk? Probably. Calum generally couldn't remember the happenings of a night before from the moment his lips came into contact with the alcohol and onwards- he was a lightweight, as Michael teased. Maybe Ashton thought he was pathetic now. Had he asked Ashton to stay? Had he been needy? Michael had always told him he got clingy and sleepy when he was drunk. Embarrassing, he was so embarrassing, he'd embarrassed himself and now Ashton hated him-

Ashton groaned. Stirred a little in his deep slumber, and Calum froze, his body tensing up in Ashton's arms. There was still time to run away, it wasn't too late- Calum was always ugly in the mornings, his hair always a dishevelled, floppy mess of tangles, and his eyes were always so bloodshot and he was in his fucking clothes, for crying out loud-

"Good morning." Ashton's voice was so deep yet so soft all at once, that it rumbled through Calum, sending tingles running marathons through every nerve in his body. Calum had barely even noticed Ashton's eyes crack open to reveal the beautiful hazel orbs that always shon even in the dark, and when they were so up close, Calum could see all the tiny flecks of gold and brown and green blending together like a watercolour painting, and Calum really wished he could capture the image forever. And Calum hadn't even realised that minutes had passed in silence, with him just shamelessly staring into Ashton's eyes, until the older boy squeezed his hip gently. Calum felt the heat rise to the tips of his ears and his cheeks, heating him up even more than he already was in the stuffy room. His room. Jesus Christ, it was a mess in there- Ashton probably thought he was a slob. And Calum prayed to God that Ashton hadn't seen any of his paintings, because they were terrible- he hated them, they were never good enough, _he_ was never good enough.

"Good morning," he returned politely, and maybe slightly breathlessly, wincing at how his too-raspy voice cracked loudly at the end, and his tongue felt dry and heavy and he really wished he hadn't opened his mouth to say anything, but Ashton just giggled, and Calum felt some of that weight- that always seemed to be on him, like it was trying to press him down and crush him into the earth- lift. Because Ashton didn't care, apparently, so why should Calum? (Since when had he adopted that attitude?)

"Did you sleep well...?" Ashton whispered, smiling fondly, his eyes searching Calum's face like he couldn't focus on one singular detail- likely noticing all his imperfections; suddenly Calum was painfully aware that the bright lighting was probably doing nothing for his skin, either.   
Calum just hummed this time instead, not fully trusting his voice yet after its last betrayal.

Ashton then reached up to stroke his fingers through Calum's hair, petting him, and Calum wondered how he could even bare to look at him when he was so repulsive, let alone _touch_ him, but- oh, did that feel _good_. He melted into Ashton's touch, letting out a shameless sigh of contentment; who didn't love having their hair played with? You couldn't exactly blame him.

Ashton petted him fondly a little more, allowing his fingers to curl before eventually, and much to Calum's dismay, he withdrew his hand, moving back on the small single bed to look at Calum properly. He'd never felt so small and vulnerable under someone's gaze before- he looked disgusting, he knew he did, and Ashton was just staring and he couldn't help it when he buried his face behind the sleeves of his sweater because his blush was coming back, and his too-chubby cheeks were all dry and his hair was a living nightmare on top of his head and Calum wanted to disappear because he was so repulsive compared to this stunning human in front of him and there was nothing he could do but hide his face like a child-

Ashton pulled Calum's hands away. Maybe Ashton didn't mind?  
No, he did. Everyone minded. Everyone hated. Everyone hated him. How couldn't they?  
 _No, stop. Stop._  
"Come out with me?"  
Calum's heart stopped- his fuzzy head was too slow, he couldn't process things properly- hell, maybe he wasn't even hearing things properly, but had Ashton just asked him...out? Like, okay, maybe he only had a walk or something in mind, but why would anyone want to go anywhere with the likes of Calum? He wasn't going to push his luck, though. Ashton was bound to realise what a waste of space Calum was eventually- finally put on the glasses of fate and have his eyes opened to the disgusting human being that Calum really was- Ashton may have been perfect, but he must've been blind too. No one could love Calum. Like him. Even accept him. And the sooner Ashton realised that, the less difficult it'd be. For everyone.

Yet, he couldn't resist. Even if he tried. Who could? He nodded, his dizzy and hung over head protesting, but he didn't care. Normally, on days like this when Calum didn't have class, he'd spend all day cooped up in the apartment (he really wasn't an outdoorsy type of guy). But then again, some fresh air would do him good- plus, _Ashton_.

Naturally, he showered first- just so he looked at least a little more presentable, and put on an old raincoat, because while it was wake outside, the overhanging grey clouds made him slightly uneasy. Ashton didn't shower- just went home and got dressed- but somehow he still managed to look better than any person Calum had ever seen before in his life. How?

He hadn't seen Michael all morning, but figured he was just sleeping in. They'd all had a ridiculously late night last night. Besides, Calum was too giddy with nervousness...or was that excitement? He wasn't sure. He hadn't felt excited in a while.

Laying eyes upon Ashton had his heart aching as much as his head. When Ashton extended his hand, his long fingers waiting for Calum's- Calum's heart burst. Why was Ashton so nice to him? Was he crazy, or something?  
And Calum took it, of course, cringing at how horrible his clammy hands must've felt against Ashton's big soft ones. But once their fingers interlaced, and Ashton led him down the stairs like they did this all the time, like it was no big deal (it wasn't, really), Calum felt a little bit of whatever the fuck it was he felt inside just- disappear. Where it went, he hadn't a clue; the fear, the voices, the pain- it'd all probably come rushing back in later, but it was like Ashton blocked it out. Ashton was safe. Calum loved it.

And as Ashton walked him down the road, although he'd been right- the wind was nippy, and the sun was hidden behind a fluffy sheet of water in the sky- everything felt okay. They'd been walking down the street for a while, dodging through the crowds- busy people in suits with a coffee in hand, rushing down to get the next taxi to whatever dull office was awaiting them, or people strolling briskly with a scrunched up newspaper blocking their view of everyone else, or the people who looked like nobodies- people with nowhere to go and nothing to do, no real intention. Calum supposed he was one of those people- or had been, at least- Ashton gave him an undeniable sense of purpose. Finally, Ashton stopped abruptly, pulling Calum across the road and ignoring the taxis that honked their horns at them; Calum marvelled at Ashton's spontaneity and blissful carelessness.

He hadn't a clue where they were- was relying on Ashton entirely, in fact- but there was a park up ahead, ringed by a black and golden metal fence, tall cherry blossom trees lining the outskirts along the creamy pavement. It was pretty- too pretty- and Calum wondered how he'd never come across it before. Ashton shot him back a grin as he pushed open the gate, and Calum couldn't help the toothy smile he returned. It may have been cold, but the breeze blew the light dusky pink petals off of the trees, where they swirled in the icy air before a few came to settle in Ashton's golden curls, and Calum giggled as he felt them land in his own. Ashton turned back, puzzled, but then mirrored Calum's laugh when he spotted the newest addition to their hair styles. Thankfully, he didn't bother brushing them off of himself- they only made him even more beautiful.

The bench they sat on was white, ringed with red and golden leaved trees, directly in what little sunlight still found its way through the silvery branches.   
"It's nice, isn't it?"  
Calum jumped a little; he'd been so deep in thought he'd almost forgotten Ashton was there. Almost.  
"Mmm.." He nodded in agreement, and it wasn't much, but somehow Ashton managed to find a way to carry on the conversation anyway- Calum gave him kudos for that, because it was difficult holding a normal conversation with someone as painfully awkward as himself.   
"I found it a couple of weeks ago. The park, I mean."  
Calum nodded again, and took a moment to actually properly focus on the park itself, instead of just Ashton. It was quite large, and in the direct centre was a lake- or a big pond, whatever. The trees surrounding it had a soft autumnal glimmer to them, and the path winding through them and around the lake was long and narrow, dotted with the ornate benches such as the one he and Ashton sat on. There were swans circling the dark silver water, beating white wings sending ripples cascading outwards, and people stood with children, or simply by themselves, throwing them the bread that was supposedly too stale to eat. People always threw away bread that, really, was perfectly fine- a little dry around the edges, perhaps, but still okay. Calum supposed he'd become more aware of little things such as these since he moved out (he and Michael savoured whatever food they had; the cupboards were empty most of the time because university fees had drained their pockets almost entirely- it was pitiful, really).

He hadn't even felt the cold, really- was too warmed by the sight of the serene little park, and how perfect Ashton looked when his hair blew in the wind, and how the golden curls matched perfectly with the golden leaves surrounding them on the darkened grass, and how the pink of the blossom trees were the exact colour of his soft tanned rosy cheeks- until his hands were clasped tightly in Ashton's own, and Ashton was caressing the back of them with his thumbs, as if he were trying to warm them up. Calum just blinked blankly at him, and Ashton laughed- a laugh as sweet as honey, thick and tingly and genuine- and tiny dimples appeared on his face and around his perfect reddened lips which had melted into a smile, and Calum decided that even though his body did indeed feel cold, his heart was warmed by it. That was the word- heartwarming. Ashton was _heartwarming_.

"You're shaking," Ashton explained, pressing Calum's hands more firmly between his own, and Calum felt how icy his fingertips were in contrast to Ashton's warm palms.   
"I'm alright," Calum smiled, but his body betrayed him as a shudder wracked his frame, and he cursed inwardly.   
Ashton looked around then, eyes searching for something, brow creased in thought, before finally he spotted what he was apparently looking for in the distance, and turned back to Calum.   
"Wait here," he told him, and with that, he was off down the street.

 _He's leaving you. He's not coming back._  
No, he was. Ashton was coming back. But he knew that deep down, had he been in Ashton's position he would've left a long time ago. It was beyond him how anyone in their right mind could possibly want to spend time with him.   
He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, wishing he'd picked something a little thicker to wear. Ashton probably thought it was pathetic, how easily he got cold, or how quickly he got sleepy or tired.   
Weak. Weak, weak, _weak_.

He chewed on his lip as he subconsciously rocked back and forth, legs swinging idly as he waited for the older boy to return. That was when he felt it- a vibration, resounding from the bench- and he looked down, to see Ashton's phone with the cracked screen, receiving a text alert. Ashton must've left it accidentally when he went off to wherever he'd disappeared to; Calum knew he shouldn't read it. He knew he shouldn't. He wasn't stupid.

But the longer he watched it, screen lit up in torment, luring him in closer- he couldn't help himself. He hated himself. It could be private, something Ashton didn't want him or anyone else to see, but it was right there. And Calum wasn't generally a nosy person- at all, in fact- he kept himself to himself. But even the faintest suggestion that someone was texting Ashton other than himself (and Calum didn't even have his number) sent his mind into a pathetically jealous spinning mess.

Brendon: See you soon! Xx

Brendon. Sick. Brendon... He felt sick. Who the hell was Brendon? Was Brendon an- an ex, or something? Or even worse...a boyfriend? Maybe Ashton had a boyfriend. Maybe Ashton didn't love him even in the slightest...the tiny digital kisses dotting the end of the message certainly didn't seem platonic. And Calum knew that they could be sarcastic, or ironic- God knows he'd received enough of those from Michael- but why would they be? Ashton had never mentioned any friends- Calum paid close attention to detail.

But here was this Brendon, texting Ashton out of the blue to let him know, or to express his excitement, that he'd be seeing him soon? When? _Soon_. Calum turned the phone off abruptly, finally stilling the chilling vibrations and curling in a little on himself on the bench, cold arms wrapping around his torso as he attacked his lower lip with his teeth. What ifs resounding through his mind, threatening to drown him. Well Ashton didn't feel the same way about him, he knew that for sure. No, no he didn't. Brendon could just be a friend. Could just be nobody.

Someone was touching him. He jumped in his seat, spinning around to see Ashton had sat back down next to him, a smile merged with a frown on his face, as he held two steaming hot chocolates in his hands. He'd come back. He hadn't left. Why? It didn't matter.   
"Are you alright?" He asked, as he extended his toned arm to press one of the papery red cups into Calum's ice cold hands. The heat of the drink was so good.   
"Mmhmm," Calum forced a smile, and for a moment, temporarily forgot about Brendon. Calum knew he should probably tell Ashton about the text he'd received, but he couldn't bring himself to. He'd probably be sick, and that would not be attractive on a first date. Date? Date? No, this was not a date. What was he on about? Ashton would never take him on a date. No one would ever take him on a date. This wasn't a date.   
Ashton didn't seem convinced, but returned the smile anyway and took a long sip from the cup, face crinkling a little when the chocolatey beverage scolded his tongue. Calum couldn't help the giggle that escaped his lips.

Tell Ashton. Tell Ashton. It was greedy of him, selfish of him, but in this moment- no matter how temporary- Ashton was his. And Calum wasn't going to let a text ruin that.

They finished their hot chocolates quickly, cocoa steam filling their lungs, the cold air now just a passing breeze. Calum's head still ached, of course- he dreaded to imagine how much alcohol had been running through his veins last night- but the hot chocolate eased it a little, and Ashton's body pressed up against his did too. Calum didn't want to leave the park; he wouldn't have minded staying a little longer (or for the rest of his life), but it was getting cold again, not to mention the sun had now completely disappeared. Calum had lost track of time- had no idea how long they'd been there, huddled together and savouring the beams of sun whenever it shone down on them, tainted by the leaves flickering around in the wind- but Ashton said it was probably time to go, and Calum halfheartedly agreed. As comfy he'd been, revelling in the peaceful silence, with Ashton's long fingers just daring to brush past his leg every so often- he was freezing. Maybe it'd be better to come down in summer. If Ashton even wanted to. He probably wouldn't; who would want to go anywhere with Calum?

"So...about Luke and Michael..." Ashton spoke up as they walked _slowly_ back down the road, which Calum was grateful for- he wanted to spend as much time with Ashton as possible. And, ah- there it was- Calum knew Ashton had been itching to ask him something all afternoon. Maybe this was the only reason he'd bought him out in the first place- to get more insight into Michael and Luke's...relationship? He didn't actually care about Calum, he was using him. Of course. That made sense.

"I don't mean to be nosy, or anything, but are they...?"  
And Calum shrugged, because honestly, he had no idea. He knew Michael liked Luke- a lot- and while he was no genius, he had a hunch that Luke liked Michael back just as much. Yet there was something holding them back, and as much as Calum prayed that it wasn't what he thought it was, something told him that Michael's parents and the way they had treated Michael so awfully may've had something to do with it. They'd bullied the red haired boy- a _lot_ \- throughout most of his life, and they hated gays. Told Michael it was wrong, unnatural, disgusting. And Michael knew it was bullshit, told Calum as much when he'd met Calum half way between their houses with a black eye and split lip because they couldn't exactly go back to Calum's house either, with Calum's parents being nearly as bad as Michael's- yet some of his parents harsh words and violence had evidently lingered on, and you couldn't blame Michael for that. Michael and Luke may've been going at it like rabbits, but Calum knew that Michael was probably just as scared of love as Calum himself was- sex wasn't love. So that was probably why the relationship the two had been having for the past month or so had yet to develop into anything more. Calum could tell it was hurting Luke, and obviously Michael too. Yet there was nothing he could do, but watch as Michael slowly destroyed the one good thing he had left (you could argue that he still had Calum as well, but Calum wouldn't exactly call himself a good thing). And yes, Calum may have been observing them painfully closely- but he'd always been good at observing, for lack of anything better to do. Besides, he'd always kept an eye on Michael, and Michael had always kept an eye on him- because without Michael, he'd be nothing. Michael just looked out for Calum because he...cared? Calum was a burden, if anything. Entirely reliant on Michael- it was pathetic. But in the nights where he'd cry to Michael, curl up in his arms, never _completely_ voicing all of his deepest, darkest thoughts- Michael would tell him that he wouldn't have it any other way. And while Calum didn't believe him, not even in the slightest- it kept the bad thoughts at bay for a little bit.

"Sorta. It's complicated," he finally came out with, and Ashton nodded understandingly- he didn't push it any further, and Calum was grateful, because he didn't know what else he would've said.

Back at the apartments, Ashton pulled Calum into his for a bit, because Michael probably still wouldn't be up anyway, and why the hell not? It was as Ashton moved further inside and out of Calum's view to find Luke that Calum came across it- he slipped on something underfoot, sliding a little across the floorboards, before quickly steadying himself, and lifting a foot to see what had caused it. It was a piece of paper, small and face down, and Calum slowly reached down to pick it up. The crinkled paper was thicker than usual- a photograph- and when Calum flipped it over, he blushed.

It was him and Ashton- his face pressed up against Ashton's shoulder awkwardly as he slept, obviously entirely oblivious of the photo being taken, his cheek all squished up and his mouth open a little. Ugly, it was so ugly. Embarrassing. Calum guessed Michael must've taken it, because it was dark and blurry and taken at a terrible angle, and Luke was a genius when it came to taking photographs- even when drunk, Calum didn't doubt Luke could take a picture of dog shit and still make it look good- but then his eyes fell upon Ashton, and he swooned a little. Despite the awful quality of the photo, it still captured everything about Ashton perfectly- his hair shon in the flash of the camera, his sharp jaw casting a shadow over his tanned neck, eyes glowing as he looked away into the distance like he was royalty, and Calum loved it. Quickly, he pocketed the picture before anyone else could see, and shouted to Ashton that he was going home. He didn't receive a reply, which stung a little, but he decided that Ashton had probably had enough of him for a day anyway, and so took off back into his own apartment.

He'd been right- Michael was still nowhere to be seen and so was probably sleeping- Calum would've worried, because it was past one in the afternoon, but it was nothing unusual for Michael. And so Calum did the only thing he knew how to do- to a certain extent, anyway. Paint.

Now he knew he should've been working on the project he'd been set for the next week or so that went on his portfolio and counted for a big chunk of his grade, but he was stuck. _Paint your mind._ That was the task. All your thoughts, and feelings and shit. What the fuck did that even mean? Calum wasn't sure he actually had enough blacks and greys to accurately depict the darkness that was his mind. He'd already done most of it- he just needed to wait for the paint to dry each time so he could build up the layers- it was a slow process. So far, he'd managed splatters on a page that vaguely resembles something like a sunset, and the colours were mainly golden and red and pink- truthfully, it resembled nothing even vaguely similar to his thoughts or feelings, but he was sure he'd be able to bullshit something about happiness and joy in the essay that was due along with the piece itself.

But he still had time (no he didn't, but he procrastinated). And so naturally, using the picture he'd just found as a basis, he drew Ashton. While the pristine image of the older boy surrounded by the sun and flowers and the shining autumn air was still fresh in his mind, it was perfect. Ashton was perfect.

Calum spent what must've been hours, swirling the paints together on the page, a mixture of soft deep pinks, and goldens and chocolatey browns and rich caramels until finally, his shaky stupid hands had produced something that at least looked vaguely like Ashton. And Calum's paintings were horrible, and ugly and he hated them- but he could never hate anything that represented Ashton even in the slightest- hence the conflict swirling around in the pit of his stomach. Did he hate it? He should. He'd made it. But Ashton. Ashton with his lovely eyes that Calum had sort of captured on the canvas in the shimmery paint, and the deep blond curls with the hidden shadowed sunbeams that he'd accidentally probably made a little too dark, and the deep red lips that contrasted so perfectly with his tanned skin, which Calum had managed to paint kind of unevenly- but then again, even Picasso couldn't have done Ashton justice- the boy was just too beautiful. And Calum really did love him.

So he decided, that maybe- just maybe- the painting wasn't all that bad. His hands were covered in flaking paint, and the sun was low in the sky now, casting pinky red sunset shadows over his creamy walls, and his legs were cramped from sitting in such an awkward position for so long, but he didn't care. Gently, carefully, he tucked the painting away under his bed where prying eyes couldn't see it, and fell back onto his mattress, wrapping himself in the blanket that still smelt blissfully of Ashton. A long and peaceful sleep- something Calum hadn't really had in a while- was quick to follow. And as he slowly fell into the abyss of darkness and rest and peace, all he could see, hear, think- feel- was _Ashton_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm tryna keep this muke centric but I just really fucking love Cashton woops


	9. I could follow you to the beginning (just to relive the start)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from All I Wanted by Paramore.

A week that had felt more like a month had passed since he'd last talked to Luke, and even then, Michael couldn't exactly remember it- _at all_ , to be honest- he'd been drunk off his ass. And that only made it all the more painful, because why? Why was Luke avoiding him? Refusing to let Michael in even when Michael knew he was inside his and Ashton's apartment, probably only a few feet away from the door that separated them both. Unfortunately, Calum didn't seem to have much recollection of the night, either, and just shot him sympathetic smiles whenever Michael would return from one of his many exploits across the hallway, where he'd received nothing but silence, instead of a door opening and a greeting from Luke. And Michael had been much too busy brooding to even bother asking Ashton. The older boy was nice, and all, but Michael didn't exactly trust him yet. It was no fault of Ashton's at all- Michael just didn't know him that well yet, was all. And maybe Michael was a _little_ overprotective over Calum. _Maybe_.

Either way, it was pretty much safe to say that Michael missed Luke. Not just Luke's body, or his great hair, or his ridiculously cheesy pick-up lines ("play me like you play your guitar" was Michael's personal favourite)- _Luke_. And he had to know what he'd done wrong, because now he was becoming desperate. Experiencing withdrawal symptoms, even- he couldn't sit still, he felt sick- was Luke his drug? Luke was his drug. And if he didn't make things better- if things never got better- Michael didn't know what he'd do.

He had to do it. He wasn't going to take no for an answer. And maybe, just maybe- this would mean the truth would have to come out. Michael didn't know if they were far enough into their fucked up relationship yet to talk about all the shit that'd fucked them up since they were kids, but Michael didn't see another option. His parents had always told him that being gay was wrong- and truth be told, while Michael had had the occasional crush on a member of the football team (he'd even had a temporary crush on Calum, for fucks sake)- Luke was the first guy he'd ever loved. The first person he'd ever really _loved_. And it petrified him.

Michael knew that everything he'd been taught by his parents was wrong- even when he was eight and sat at the back of the class drawing teenage mutant ninja turtles with Calum, he'd known, because what his teachers said just didn't add up. His parents said it was wrong, but his teacher said that it was okay to love everyone...? And Michael decided that the teacher had to know best, because the teacher taught people things, and teachers were always right. So that only meant Michael's parents were wrong. And when Michael had asked Calum, Calum had just blinked at him with his big brown eyes and chewed thoughtfully on his full bottom lip, before saying "I think boys are nice too." So, if Calum thought it was alright, well- it was alright. While he'd always clung to that, however, part of it still nagged at him even to this day, and when Michael found himself staring at Luke's swollen lips and practically wanting to devour them (gross, he knew)- part of him wished he didn't. But one thing was for certain- his feelings weren't going to leave any time soon, so may as well just get them out in the open. Luke already seemed to hate him, so what else was there to lose?

The blond boy was all that was on his mind as he sat impatiently through a lecture about something that would probably be important for his theory- yet he couldn't have cared less. Not to mention, the now-cold cup of coffee that tasted like puddle water anyway was the only thing keeping him awake; insomnia was being a bitch recently, and even the pills weren't working. Michael put that down to his separation from Luke, too. He tapped his pencil in a quiet rhythm, watching the old dusty clock at the front of the hall tick by torturously slowly, until finally- the bell sounded, loud and clear, and Michael was hastily shoving all the papers he hadn't bothered to look at into his old beat up rucksack, and was thrown into the crowd of other tired students who were apparently just as eager to get out of there as he was.

As soon as the cold air and sun was on his pale skin, Michael was taking off away from everyone else- away from the general lunch area, and towards the photography block. Had he never met Luke, Michael probably wouldn't even have realised that such a block existed- it was a tiny building, with just a few classrooms, and was tucked away over the other side of the campus, away from almost everything else besides the art block. Michael met Luke there sometimes at lunch- well, he used to, anyway- so that they could go into the toilets together, and...well...y'know. They were teenagers; Luke was fucking hot. Could you blame him?

Thankfully, Luke's lectures always overran so Michael didn't have to worry about missing him, and so took his place on the grass outside to wait. The breeze was cool and soft and gentle, yet Michael was still hot and felt like he was suffocating. His chest was too tight- what was he even going to say? He hadn't thought it through. Not at all. Fucking fantastic. He could still leave, there was time-

A burst of students suddenly rushed out of the old creaky wooden doors, taking off in all directions. Michael's eyes scanned the group desperately, searching for the one person he needed the most- there he was. At the back of the group, his head hanging low as he ran a hand through his soft blond hair like Michael used to, tugging down the sleeves of his shirt when his creamy skin was exposed to the air- and Michael couldn't stop himself. From the minute he was on his feet, Luke saw him- the younger boy froze, like a deer caught in headlights- before blushing fiercely, and hanging his head even lower to rush off in the other direction. And he was quick, his lanky limbs taking him further in one pace than three of Michael's paces would, but Michael had energy to burn after sitting still in an uncomfortable seat listening to a talk about some musician he couldn't care less about for two hours, and so quickly caught up. It was probably the most exercise he'd done in weeks.

When Michael touched Luke, grabbed his thin wrist, he realised he hadn't felt Luke's skin under his own in forever. Luke stopped quickly, spinning around to stare Michael straight in the eyes. They were close- their noses almost touching- and Michael was so tempted to just close the distance between them and lock their lips together. But then the brightness of Luke's eyes was freezing into an icy cold blue, and he roughly yanked his arm out of Michael's reach, adjusting the shoulder strap of his bag and then straightening up. Michael hated when he did that, because Luke was just so broad and tall- it could be scary sometimes.

"What?" Luke snapped, his voice laced with an underlying anger, and Michael felt his heart slowly begin to sink, like there was a force physically pulling it down into the pit of his stomach.   
"We need to talk," Michael said quietly, conscious of other students surrounding them, even though most of them had their noses buried in a book, or were fiercely scribbling away.   
"No, we don't, Michael." And with that, Luke started walking again, determined to get away from Michael. Michael felt sick.   
"Luke, please, just-"  
"Fine!" Luke shouted, and that did draw the attention of others. Luke blushed when he noticed, before it was his turn to grab Michael's arm, and pulled him none too gently down, until they were both sat opposite each other on the soft green grass. "Fine," he repeated much more quietly, and he took to fiddling with a blade of grass between his long pale fingers. "Talk."

And this was the part Michael had been dreading, and he gulped, because really- what was he supposed to say?   
"I- I'm-...why have you been avoiding me?" He finally choked out, the lump in his throat growing when Luke only let out a bitter laugh of disbelief.   
"Of course you wouldn't-...never mind. Forget it." Luke made to stand up again, but Michael grabbed his hand this time, pulling it closer to him. Luke coughed uncomfortably before sinking back down into the grass, and while the anger was still there, Michael could see the hurt in his eyes.

"It's just- I don't know, Michael. One day, it's like- it's like we're a thing, y'know? And then the next, you can't even bare to look at me. I don't get it." Luke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly.   
Michael felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.   
"I'm sorry, but- Luke, I swear I can explain-"  
"I don't wanna hear it." Luke actually stood up this time, and Michael didn't even try to stop him. He just slowly clambered up onto his own shaky legs, shrinking under the blond boy's icy gaze. No, no, no- this was wrong, this was not how Michael had expected it to go. If Luke wasn't staring at him with a look in his eyes that could probably resurrect the dead, Michael was sure he would've fainted there and then. This wasn't his fault- well, maybe it was a little- but Luke needed to understand. He had to understand, hehadtounderstand-

"I'm scared," Michael blurted out, and Luke's eyes widened for a split second, before quickly narrowing again- like he was trying to figure out what Michael meant. Michael swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to continue. He hadn't expected it to be this hard. "It's just- I don't know what we are, Luke. And it scares me."

Luke scoffed loudly. "You're scared."  
Michael just nodded- it was all he had the bravery to do; he didn't trust his voice not to crack.   
"Well you'd better figure it out, Michael. I haven't got time for this anymore. Maybe we're better off as nothing."  
He spat the last part, and Michael winced. No- no! It was Luke and him, him and Luke. They couldn't just be nothing. Michael- fuck, Michael loved him- so why couldn't he say it? Say it, just fucking say it! He was a coward. He was weak, and because of it, the boy he loved was about to be gone forever.

"Luke, I..."  
"What?" Luke waited for Michael's response, but Michael's tongue was seemingly glued to the roof of his mouth as his jaw remained clamped shut. Nothing came. Luke scoffed again, the pain still shimmering somewhere in the deep cerulean orbs that Michael had fallen completely head over heels in love with. Luke had never loved him, and now- he was never going to.

"I'm sorry," Michael finally choked out, nothing more than a whisper- and while it wasn't what he'd originally intended to say, it was better than nothing.   
Luke bowed his head, and Michael did the same, not wanting Luke to see the tears in his eyes that blurred his vision and were constantly threatening to spill over and trickle pathetically down his pale stubbled cheeks.

Luke opened his mouth to say something then, his lip ring moving ever so slightly as it came into contact with his perfectly rounded white teeth, blond hair fluttering into his blue eyes as a particularly strong gust of bitter wind blew past them, and he refused to look at Michael, his eyes downcast and focused on the floor as long dark eyelashes brushed past his creamy cheeks, the two colours contrasting perfectly, and Michael was preparing his heart for the breakage that was bound to come with the words that spilled out of Luke's lips, his heart hammering in his chest like it wanted to escape-

when Michael's phone started ringing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's stuck around so far haha, thank you to wastethemuke for all of your lovely comments and everyone else who's commented and left kudos :) it means the world


	10. Thought we built a dynasty that heaven couldn't break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Dynasty by MIIA.

Nothing ever really remained perfect, so to speak, in Calum's life. Everything always had a way of flipping things around on him- which was why he'd never really trusted anything, or anyone. God knows why he'd been stupid enough to trust Ashton. But the answer was right there, in the statement- because he was stupid.

Everything had been going fine, absolutely fine- more than fine, in fact- Calum wasn't sure there were enough words in the universe to describe how _fine_ being wrapped up in Ashton Irwin's arms was, on a tatty, albeit comfy sofa, engulfed in warmth and bliss and _peace_. And it was, ultimately, perfect. But then the sound of engines- lots of them- outside, wheels screeching and braking, had cut through the serene and comfortable silence the two of them had fallen in to, and Ashton's head was up in an instant, his neck bent at an awkward angle, with something that resembled fear in his wide hazel eyes. And Calum didn't know why Ashton was scared, but it made his stomach lurch, because they were only engines. Why would Ashton be scared of that? And then the engines stopped completely, and the silence somehow was even louder and worse than the previous racket had been, and Ashton's body left Calum's completely, as he walked over to the window with quick strides, the tension obvious in every step.

And then Ashton had pulled the blinds back only marginally to peer out, like he was scared of being seen, and Calum was vaguely of his own heart pounding heavily in his chest because _what the fuck was going on?_  
"Shit," Ashton said quietly, "shit, shit, SHIT!"  
And then he hit his fist against the wall, and the loud bang made Calum jump with a small involuntary squeak, and then Ashton turned around to look at him with such helplessness in his eyes that it chilled Calum to the bone.   
"What's wrong?" Calum forced out, and Ashton bit his lip, running his hands through his honey hair, and Calum wanted it to be a joke, or something- because Ashton wasn't supposed to be scared like this. Ashton was meant to be strong.   
"They're here. Oh god, this is my fault, I should never have came here, I knew they'd come-"  
And Calum was up in an instant, and cupped Ashton's sharp jaw in his hands, pulling the boy's face so he was forced to stare into Calum's eyes. He ran his thumbs along Ashton's stubble gently, trying to calm down the obviously panicking older boy, and Ashton gripped Calum's forearms, squeezing tight.   
"Knew who would come?" Calum asked softly, and then wished he'd never asked when the answer came spilling out of Ashton's quivering lips:  
 _"Brendon."_

And then Ashton was off again, pulling himself out of Calum's reach to pace the room, and Calum could do nothing. Nothing. He was helpless, useless- as always. And then all of a sudden Ashton stopped, and he was spinning around searching for something- when his eyes fell upon his rucksack that he seemed to carry around with him everywhere, and he grabbed it by the strap and then he grabbed Calum by the wrist, and dragged the both of them out of the apartment and across the corridor, and Calum just let Ashton lead him, still in a bit of a daze.

Once Ashton had pushed him back into Calum and Michael's own apartment, he shut the door behind them, pressing his back against it with a quick sigh, before taking Calum's head in his hands and placing a lingering kiss atop his messy curls. And Calum still didn't understand. He opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, and who this Brendon was- because now Calum knew that he sure as hell wasn't Ashton's boyfriend (crazy ex was still an option, he supposed)- but then Ashton quickly interrupted by thrusting the heavy backpack into Calum's hands.

"Listen to me carefully." Ashton tilted Calum's chin up from where he'd been staring at the bag that he'd now been saddled with, a sadness but sense of urgency in his tone. "I need you to take this, and hide it. Don't come out, stay quiet, don't be seen. Can you do that?"  
And Calum nodded slowly, shocked and confused, but then he felt his eyebrows furrow, and looked back and forth between Ashton at the bag. "I don't understand," he finally came out with, but Ashton just caressed his cheek helplessly.   
"I love you," he said quietly, before he was taking off out the door, and shutting it behind him. Calum wasn't sure when Ashton had got a key to his apartment, but he locked it behind him, too.

Calum's mind was in overdrive as he rushed into his bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him, just like Ashton had told him to. He didn't even register the last three words Ashton had just said to him. Had he not been in such a panic, he probably would've choked.

Why did he open the bag? He didn't know. He wished he hadn't. But there was something nagging at him as he slowly pulled open the zip; he had a feeling he knew what was inside. And Calum wished that he hadn't been right, but he was. _Drugs_ \- shit tons of them. The little food he'd eaten earlier threatened to make a reappearance as he realised that Michael and Luke had been right from the start- that Ashton could be anyone- and that it was Calum who'd been stupid enough to trust him, and that it was Calum who'd been so pathetically _in love_ with the boy with the scrawly handwriting that came to the library every day with a coffee in hand to scribble out beautiful poems and essays, and that- yes, this was _Calum's_ fault.

He stuffed it all back in the bag, panic starting to strangle him as he hurriedly hid it away at the back of his chest of drawers, his sweaty hands struggling with the slippery metal handles. And he could hear the heavy footsteps sounding up the stairs now, and he wanted this all to be a dream- just one terrible, awful nightmare- _Michael_. Calum always called Michael when he had nightmares. And regardless of whether this was a nightmare or real life, Michael fixed everything. Call Michael. _Call Michael_.

And so he did. What was he supposed to tell him? He knew Michael was planning to confront Luke today, anyway, after finally building up the courage he'd been waiting on for weeks, so maybe Michael wouldn't even pick up. The phone rang as he waited, rocking himself back and forth on the bed, chewing at his lip as his vision blurred with tears and fear and panic. His eyes landed upon his almost finished project that was due in in a few days, for lack of something better to distract himself with, and he tried desperately to focus on the way the golden paint contrasted so fiercely with some of the jet black shadows in the background, and the way that the silvery metallic pinks shon in the light from the rays of sun that were magnified tenfold by the tiny window in his wall- but it didn't work. He was panicking; he couldn't stop. The phone seemed to ring for an eternity, before finally, the noise of someone picking up reached Calum's ear.

"Cal?" Michael asked, and he sounded tired and upset, and Calum decided that he'd probably called at a bad time- yet there was that underlying tone of worry that Michael always had in his voice when Calum called him. It made Calum feel even worse, yet he couldn't form the words in his mouth, and he just breathed heavily into the phone and could hear the sound of it rattling down the line, and he was sure Michael had to be getting impatient by now, and he opened his mouth but nothing came out but a desperate sob, and he'd never felt more pathetic in his entire life-

"Cal?"  
Michael's voice was much more urgent and concerned this time, and Calum just wished Michael was actually here with him now, because Michael would know what to do.   
"I-I...it's- A-Ash-"  
"Shh, calm down," Michael soothed, and Calum could hear him mouthing something to someone on the other end, and decided that Luke was probably there with him too. He really didn't need anyone else to hear his little breakdown, but what choice did he have? "Take deep breaths."  
And he tried, and yes, his breathing did steady a little bit, but the panic never ebbed away.

"H-he's in- t-trouble..."  
"What kind of trouble?"  
"L-like..." What kind of trouble? Calum didn't actually know. Did the cannabis sitting underneath his PJs even belong to Ashton? Or had he stolen it? That would explain why the people were here. But instead, Calum just settled for "drugs."  
He heard Michael's breath hitch, and Calum started crying then.   
"Calum, shh, we're going to come and get you. Are there people there?"  
"Y-yeah, there's lots of them Mike, I can h-hear them...Ashton looked so scared..." Then the full extent of Michael's words hit Calum, and he started crying even harder. "P-please, don't c-come Michael. T-there's too many, _please_ , don't-"  
"Calum, don't worry, just stay-"  
The rest of Michael's words were drowned out by a loud knock- a knock that was too close to be on anything other than the door to their apartment, and Calum froze, his stupid sobs silencing immediately. They'd come for him now, too. Maybe they'd killed Ashton. Maybe they were going to kill him. And, truth be told- while Calum was scared senseless- he wouldn't mind that. It would solve what he'd been trying to do himself for months- and this way, it'd be so much easier on Michael, and everyone else. This way, it wouldn't be his fault- someone else would get the blame. _He wanted to die_. No. No, he didn't.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Michael yelling desperately into the phone, and Calum had to quickly pull it away from his ear it was so loud. Shakily, he brought it back up, crying silently, where he whispered, "they're coming, I've got to go- I love you," before hanging up, ignoring Michael's desperate shouts completely. He placed the phone down next to him, drawing his knees up to his chest and clamping a hand over his mouth in an attempt to silence his violent sobs.

The knock came again- Calum jumped- and was quickly followed by a man shouting.   
"Let me in!" The voice bellowed. Calum wasn't going to do that anytime soon, obviously. He could hear more footsteps outside. More knocking that soon turned into a racket of banging ensued. Calum bit his lip and buried his face between his knees, praying for someone- anyone- to make it stop. But then again, he supposed he deserved it- he'd been the one stupid enough to trust Ashton, and now he was paying the price for it.

The door came off its hinges. While Calum may be sat in his own room, he could tell that much from the loud bang, and the subsequent clatter of wood on wood. They were inside. They were going to find him. He couldn't even stop himself from crying now. The footsteps grew louder, drawing ever nearer, and Calum could faintly hear Ashton's voice, protesting- pleading, and the shuffling of feet. Calum rubbed furiously at his damp eyes with the heel of his palm, because if these men were going to kill him, he may as well preserve at least a little bit of his dignity.

The brass doorknob began to turn then- slowly, painfully slowly- making a horrible scratching noise as it ground against the old wood of the door, and Calum froze helpless on the bed- what else was he supposed to do?   
Ashton. Ashton stumbled in; Calum could tell he'd been pushed. The fear was the only thing that swirled around in his usually bright eyes, and Calum was filled with an even stronger sense of dread.   
Two large men were quick to follow, dressed all in black, dark shades concealing part of their faces. Calum didn't like them one bit- they were covered in tattoos, and obviously Calum didn't mind tattoos- but they were the scary kind, with dragons breathing fire that looked like they wouldn't hesitate to rip your throat out, and black bold words in a language that was foreign to Calum. They were broad, tall and muscled- so, so muscled that Calum was sure they could snap him in half with one hand if they wanted to- and he shrunk in on himself a little more. But they weren't the scariest people in the room. Not at all.

A thin man stepped between them, his brown hair slicked back, and tall narrow shoulders dressed in a black trench coat. He'd look harmless- just like a normal person- were it not for the almost hysterical look of madness he had shining in his dark eyes. It was that that made him the scariest. Because while physically, he couldn't exactly do that much damage, it was the lust for power and greed reflected in his irises that meant _danger_. Calum didn't have to guess that this man was Brendon. This was the man that had Ashton in a panicking mess only mere minutes ago, and now Calum could see why.

He walked in with such a presence that Calum wanted to disappear, and he kept searching Ashton's eyes for something, anything- but Ashton wasn't even looking at him anymore, and had his jaw clenched shut and strong, as one of the men pinned his arms behind his back. What had he done? How had Ashton managed to piss this guy off? And somehow land Calum in it as well?

"Well, well, well!" The man exclaimed in a sickly sweet mock voice, bending down so he was level with Calum, and Calum was sure he was going to throw up all over Brendon's shiny polished black shoes. This guy didn't look like some master drug lord, but Calum knew better than to judge from appearances- at least, he used to- Ashton was the perfect contradiction of that. "You didn't tell me you had a little friend, Ashy!"  
Little friend. Ashy. _What?_  
"I don't know him," Ashton said in a shockingly cool voice, and Calum knew he was only trying to protect him. It didn't work.   
Brendon frowned, his eyes never leaving Calum's, like he was trying to suss him out. Calum shrunk under his relentless gaze. And now, Calum was more than just scared- he was fucking petrified.

"Is that true, sweetie?" Brendon pouted, and all Calum could force himself to do was nod. Brendon didn't believe him for a single second- that much was clear when the older man's eyes turned dark and frightening and angry, and he straightened up again. Then one of the men who stood by the door was snorting like a pig, but much more loud and booming and horrific, and Brendon span around, and Calum looked up too, and felt the dread increase by an infinite amount. Because there, in the man's hand, was the picture he'd taken only last week from Luke and Ashton's apartment- the one in which he, and Ashton, were in- _together_. Brendon laughed too, and Calum was sure that this was the end. That this man, with his long legs and dark hair and pale skin, was going to kill him.

Brendon took the photo quickly, turning around and waving it to both Calum and Ashton tauntingly.   
"I don't like liars, sugar puff."  
Calum was getting sick of the pet names.   
"Now, if you lie to me again, I'll kill you. How does that sound?"  
Not too bad, if he was honest (but he didn't say that out loud- just sat still, perfectly still).   
"All you have to do is tell me-" his eyes darkened again a considerable amount, and the man brought his hands up to rest on Calum's thighs, long thin white fingers clutching him so hard Calum was sure there'd be marks there afterwards, "-where the drugs are."

They were right there. A mere metre away from where he was sat now, stashed away under his night clothes, and Calum wanted to tell him- natural instincts, really- but he couldn't. Ashton had trusted him. And Calum didn't know why he had the drugs, and Calum wasn't sure he could ever trust Ashton again- he couldn't even look him in the eye, for fucks sake- but he wanted to get at least one thing right in his pitiful little life. And even if that meant hiding drugs from a drug lord who was threatening to kill him if he so much as stepped out of line- well, whatever. Ashton still wasn't looking at him, and Calum needed him to- he needed some kind of idea what he was supposed to do- because, believe it or not, _he'd never really exactly been in this situation before._

"I-I don't know." Calum hiccuped pathetically, and Brendon's grip grew tighter. But then he let go again, and one hand reached for Calum's face, the other for his back pocket.   
"Don't cry, baby," he shushed Calum, wiping away a tear gently as he flicked up a knife and held it to Calum's throat. _Oh, the irony._

"Just tell him, Cal-" Ashton began, only to be cut off by one of the men taking a swing at his stomach. Even if he'd wanted to, Calum found the words unable to find their way out of his mouth, and he watched in horror as Brendon rose up torturously slowly, the knife never leaving his big hand.   
"You really are talented, y'know," Brendon pondered, turning to gesture at his art that'd been left carelessly in the middle of his room. His project. The project that'd taken him hours- days, even, to complete. The project that was due in the day after tomorrow, that his overall success in the course depended almost entirely on. He was going to start crying again. Yet he found himself unable to move from the bed, and as Brendon slowly raised the knife to the canvas, the only sound Calum could hear was the drum of his own heartbeat- not Ashton cursing at Brendon, or Brendon laughing at how helpless he was. "It's a real shame." Then Brendon was dragging the shiny blade through the fragile paper, and Calum watched as his life fell apart before his eyes.

His muscles finally moved into action, but it was too late- the paper lay inevitably and irreversibly torn in colourful shreds on the ground, and a strong hand was pushing him back onto the bed the minute he tried to get up. That was it. He was going to fail.   
He should never have left his family- had known it was a mistake right from the start. And Calum knew he was a fool- stupid, useless- he just didn't realise he was _this much_ of a fool. What ever possessed him into thinking that he could actually have a shot at life? Whatever it was, he'd been wrong anyway.

Ashton was shouting now, obviously furious, struggling against the men holding him back, but Calum could barely hear him. It all sounded blurry, looked blurry- but then he realised that that was because his eyes were spilling over with tears again. He didn't even try to stop it.   
Brendon suddenly surged forward, the false concern and over exaggerated sweetness replacing the anger once again, and he resumed his previous position wiping away Calum's tears with the sharp steel pressed against the brown skin of his neck.   
"Don't cry, I'm sorry, baby," Brendon soothed. It only made Calum cry harder- and he felt horrible. Everything was horrible, horrible, _horrible_. He was crying pathetically as he realised that whatever he'd been holding together of his life had finally fallen apart. And here was this man, threatening to take his life, and Calum couldn't have cared less.   
"Just tell me where it is." He stroked the blade along Calum's neck, leaving a shallow yet long cut, that began to bead with dark red blood.

"Calum, please, just tell him!" Ashton begged. "I'm begging you. Just tell him."  
Calum didn't move. Why should he? But then it was as if Brendon read his mind.   
"I'll kill _him_." Brendon leaned in close to whisper in his ear, nodding his head towards Ashton, and Calum froze, turning his attention to the boy. The boy who he'd fallen in love with from the second he'd laid eyes upon him, who was now looking right back at him with the utmost desperation and confusion- and yes, maybe it was mostly his fault that Calum's life had now been completely and utterly ripped apart- but Calum couldn't just let him die.   
And then Brendon pulled back, the smell of musky cologne going with him, and he looked deep into Calum's eyes, a big smile playing on his lips to show him just how serious he was.   
Calum's head lowered in defeat- Ashton was going to hate him.   
"The second drawer," he mumbled, and Brendon laughed in his face, and his breath smelt of mint and danger.

The man in front of him raised a hand, signalling to one of the men holding Ashton to search the drawer. They found it almost instantly, extending that dreaded package to Brendon, who took it with a smile.   
"See, boys. Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"  
The second Brendon moved away from him, Calum slumped, his shoulders sagging forward and arms going loose in his lap. Everything was a mess. The tears weren't stopping, and now he'd been reduced to nothing more than a heap of hiccups and helpless sobs on the creaky bed.   
He heard Brendon whisper something to his men, before saying to Ashton, "don't cross me again." And his voice was so low and menacing that Calum was sure Brendon was going to do something horrific, like stab Ashton, but he couldn't find the energy in himself to look up, and then they were all gone anyway. It was just him and Ashton; Calum broke down.

The sobs he'd been trying so desperately to suppress in the presence of those terrifying men now spilled out of him shamelessly, wracking his body as tears tumbled down his cheeks. He didn't care who saw him anymore. Calum didn't care. There was nothing left to care about. Everything was gone. His future, Ashton- Michael would probably blame him too, for ever trusting Ashton. Luke would _despise_ him.

Ashton tried to help- God knows he did- but it was too late for that. The second the older boy even tried so much as to touch him, Calum scrambled away, out of his reach- because Ashton wasn't trustworthy.   
"Calum, please, I can explain- I'm sorry-" the older boy pleaded with him, but Calum just cried more and more until his eyes were sore, and he didn't understand why they weren't entirely dry yet. He didn't want an _explanation_ ; his heart was tired and he'd had enough. The sound of engines started back up outside, but Calum didn't even have the energy to be relieved.

It felt like an eternity that he stayed there- with Ashton awkwardly hovering next to him, murmuring things in a state of panic, unsure of what to do- until Michael was finally bursting through the small doorframe, with Luke close behind. Calum sobbed as he felt Michael's arms wrap around him- melting into the red heads side, because it was just so familiar- and shaking when Michael practically growled at Ashton to stay away. Michael's fingers reached up to card through his thick curly hair as he rocked them gently back and forth, trying to calm Calum down.

"Cal, I'm sorry-" Ashton tried again weakly, but Michael shot him a glare that could've killed.   
"I said fucking- _don't_ , Ashton." He warned, arms tightening around Calum's shoulders.   
"He's only trying to help!" He heard Luke exclaim incredulously, and Michael's hold on him went tense entirely. Like the sound of Luke's voice alone- triggered him, or something.   
"I don't care," Michael snapped, and Calum felt bad because this was because of him- they were on the verge of a full blown argument because Calum couldn't control his fears and his tears. Because he was useless. "It's his fault." _Not entirely_.

"No, it's not!"  
"He's the one whose been hiding drugs here for the past fucking month, Luke! How are you defending him?" Michael scoffed, and Calum buried his face deeper into the crook of his best friend's neck. He wanted it to stop. No, he needed it to stop. It was as if Ashton read his mind.

"Don't, Luke- he's right," the eldest interjected, quickly silencing Luke and killing the harsh words that had been about to spill out of the blond boy's mouth. "This is my fault. I'd better leave."  
"Yeah, you better had." Michael snarled, and no- that wasn't right, Ashton couldn't just...leave? No matter how angry or upset he was towards the hazel haired boy, he didn't want him to leave. Ashton wouldn't...he couldn't.  
"What, so I just go back to living by myself? Is that it, Michael?"  
"That's got nothing-"  
"Fuck you."  
"Hey! Fuck you too!"

Calum would've laughed at how childish they sounded, had his life not currently been in tatters, and his heart in an even worse condition. He pressed himself as close as was humanly possible against Michael's chest- his stupid pathetic crying fit having died down now, he just sighed. He was exhausted. And he didn't know why, because it wasn't like he'd moved very far- but the crying had made his eyes ache, and his entire body hurt and his heart and his mind and he just needed sleep- and somehow, like always, Michael seemed to sense this. Michael always knew what Calum wanted- or more importantly, what he needed.

"You should leave," Michael said coldly, and out of the corner of his eye, Calum saw Luke recoil, and Ashton flinch and bow his head. Luke turned sharply on his heel, storming out as he tugged at his golden hair in frustration, and Ashton walked out utterly disappointed and ashamed in himself- had he had a tail, it would've been between his legs right now.

And then it was just Calum and Michael. Just like the old times. Calum missed those times. When they'd curl up under his or Michael's duvet when their parents were out- because while they weren't in love with each other in that way, their parents condemned anything even remotely of the sort- their houses were strictly _no-homo zones_ (as Michael so eloquently put it). This was better, because now there was no one to stop them- just now, though, it seemed, it was _only_ them. And with Michael seeming so distant and unlike himself recently, regardless of the strong arms and warmth that surrounded Calum completely- he may as well have been alone.


	11. I'm a goner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Goner by Twenty One Pilots.

Why was Luke stood in front of the door to Michael's apartment, his hand raised and ready to knock on the wood? _Fuck knows._ He knew he really shouldn't be, because Michael probably didn't want to see him even in the slightest- yet a selfish part of Luke had forced him to drag himself across the hallway, until he was eye to eye with the tiny dusty peephole, and his heart was in his throat.

It'd been a day, or two (Luke lost track) since he'd last talked to Michael- but he couldn't leave without saying goodbye. He'd regret it for the rest of his life.

And yes, he was leaving. Going back home. Permanently. Probably. It'd gotten to the point where Luke couldn't do it anymore- the homesickness, the constant pressure, and fucking _Michael_. It wasn't really Michael's fault- well, maybe a little- but Luke didn't think he had the energy to keep what they had going anymore. It was dying. And a little part of him was dying too.

Besides, with Ashton leaving too, he couldn't afford to stay by himself. It seemed like a good enough excuse- but Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael. Maybe Michael would want him gone? Since Luke had moved in, he'd provided the older boy with nothing but his body and trouble. Right? He wouldn't be missed. And somehow, in his current state of heartbreak(?) and betrayal and hurt, Luke had convinced himself he would've been better off never leaving home in the first place. He wondered if his family had missed him. He doubted it.

Fist made contact with wood. Time passed slowly. Luke cringed. It felt like an eternity had passed since Luke had knocked, and he'd heard nothing inside- not a single peep. Ashton was still in the flat- packing, probably (although all he had was some clothes and notepads full of poems about Calum that Luke had accidentally discovered)- despite all the times Luke had told him he was welcome to stay. And Luke knew he shouldn't have said that, because Ashton leaving gave him the perfect excuse to leave too (without hurting Michael extensively)- and anyway, he _had_ been stashing stolen drugs under Luke's nose from the second he'd stepped foot in the apartment, so... He knew Calum was at uni, probably having an existential crisis about something or another- did that sound rude? Probably. But Luke blamed his own jumbled panicked brain for that. It was true, anyway. His heart was racing in his chest; it came to a halt when he heard a shuffle on the wooden floorboards. Turn back. _Turn back._ No. He couldn't. It was too late now. Was he to leave without ever seeing Michael's face again, Luke would never forgive himself.

The door opened to reveal quite possibly Luke's favourite person in the entire universe (how was that possible?). The red haired boy he'd somewhat fallen just a _teeny tiny_ bit in love with did not look like the same boy he'd set eyes upon what felt like forever ago. He looked tired- his usually bright green eyes ringed with a dark nighttime purple, and he looked as if he hadn't shaven in weeks (although really it'd only been a matter of days; Calum had many a time expressed his jealousy of Michael's impressive ability to grow facial hair so quickly). He looked drained, and Luke felt a painful pang of guilt when he realised that yes- he was probably almost entirely responsible for that.

Luke coughed awkwardly in an attempt to clear some of the tension from the air- like a gust of wind blowing away an unwanted dark stormy rain cloud; it didn't work. Michael just blinked at him, and it made Luke feel positively sick with how blank and empty he looked. This was going to be harder than he'd anticipated. Much, much harder.   
"Can I- um...can I, uh, come in?" It was forced, painfully so, his voice dry and strangled and scared. But Michael just nodded, stepping aside to allow Luke in, and shutting the door behind him.

"Take a seat." Michael's voice was low and perhaps even drier than Luke's, like he hadn't used it in days. Then again, Luke supposed he probably hadn't. Luke did as Michael had suggested, sinking down onto the couch and the memories of what they'd done together on the soft leather cushions- from what was, in reality, a couple of weeks ago, but felt more like months- came flooding back all at once, and he blushed furiously, doing a poor job of hiding it by staring at his lap. This was not the time to be thinking about that.

Michael sat down opposite him on the armchair, hands scrubbing at his stubble and rubbing at his tired bloodshot eyes, before staring at Luke expectantly- the exhaustion and subsequent impatience ever-growing in his face. Luke wondered briefly if he'd woken him up.

"I..." Where was he supposed to start? "Michael, I-"  
"I'm sorry Luke."  
 _Wait_.   
"Wha...what?"  
"I didn't mean to fuck this up. Whatever... _this_ , is."  
"No, Michael, that's not-" he was struggling to get his words out. He hadn't came here for an apology. He'd came to say goodbye. Apparently, though, Michael intended on making it 100 times more difficult. Great.   
"Michael, I need-"  
"I can't do this Luke. I need to know- what we are."  
Fuck. If only Luke knew. He wished he knew. But now Michael looked like he was about to cry, his eyes swimming with tears and his bottom lip trembling and his eyebrow piercing brushing past his red hair as he frowned, and Luke felt it slowly suffocating him- this hadn't been how he'd expected this to go. It was all wrong. This was meant to be goodbye. The last time he'd ever likely see Michael in his entire life, and it was going to end like this. With Michael on the verge of tears, and Luke unable to choke out the farewell he so desperately needed Michael to hear.

" _Shit_ -" He forced out, and that was when he heard the painfully noticeable waver of his own voice, and the way his vision was almost entirely blurred, and he realised he was no better off than Michael. "I can't-"   
Nothing made sense. Not Michael, and not the words spilling out of his mouth in a panicked rush, either. Everything was shit. This wasn't how he wanted to remember Michael. And he knew that he shouldn't even want to remember Michael in the slightest, but deep down, he knew it'd be impossible for him to ever completely forget about the older boy.

Yet he still clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, one day he'd find someone better than Michael (not possible)- someone who didn't just want him for sex, someone who legitimately loved him. While Luke had no doubt in his mind that Michael liked him, he'd never actually been able to tell Luke that he was in love with him- and that was as good enough proof as any- Michael would never adore Luke the same way Luke adored Michael.

"I've gotta-" Luke gestured helplessly towards the door, before springing out of the chair, the cool leather slippy beneath his sweaty palms. His breath was coming short, shallow and panicky, and he only vaguely registered Michael calling after him. He pressed his index finger and thumb to his eyes, in a desperate last ditch attempt to contain the tears, but he felt them streaking down his cheeks nonetheless. Luke hadn't meant to, but he slammed the door loudly behind him, the vibrations from where his long fingers still had a grip on the cool door handle resonating through his bones.

The ticket he'd bought for the train felt so...fragile. So papery and thin, like he could just rip it into a million little pieces and pretend that it had never existed. That he was never going to leave. But no. He was leaving. He had to. All his shit had already been packed up, because he was so sure he was doing this. He was doing this.

Luke: I'm sorry, I'm leaving. I hope you understand.   
Michael: what? Why?   
Michael: Luke??  
Michael: ???

He switched off his phone.

Even the promise of seeing his family (that he'd so desperately tried not to miss for the past two months) couldn't stop his tears from falling as he watched the world zoom by in a blur, as his head rested against the cold and grimy window of the train. Some passengers were staring at him in obvious concern- some kid with big brown eyes even offered him a sticky strawberry lolly pop that was probably well past its sell-by date (he kindly declined)- but others didn't even give him a second glance, like it was a common occurrence to see people sobbing on trains. Maybe it was. Luke didn't catch the train much.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. He'd known that his welcome home would hardly be a warm one, at the very least. His palms were sweating furiously as he walked up the path to the door he hadn't opened in months- he felt changed. This wasn't how he'd felt the last time he'd entered his family home, where he'd spent almost his entire childhood. Michael had changed him. Now the pink of the sickly sweet smelling roses his mother took so much pride in looked a little more dull and ugly- because they could never compare to the vibrancy and colour of Michael's bright hair and his sparkling eyes. And it felt less like home than ever before- same car, same house, same people, but Luke was different now. He blamed Michael entirely.

When he was met with the same blonde hair and blue eyes that matched his own entirely, in the possession of his mother- Luke shivered. He wanted to cry, and run away, because the disgust that was reflected so obviously in her eyes was practically unbearable. Why was he here? And then he actually did start crying, and her face softened entirely- because while he may have been the disappointment of the family, and while he wasn't smart and he didn't want to go to law school- he was still her youngest son. And then she pulled him into a hug, and it was cold and forced and didn't even compare to Michael's hugs, but it still helped him to calm down- not because it comforted him, but because he was embarrassed to cry in front of someone who felt so estranged and unfamiliar to him. Luke felt like he didn't even know his own mother anymore.

But then he was inside, and thank god Jack and Ben weren't there because they would've teased him endlessly for the state he was in, but his father was. And Luke cringed involuntarily when he was met with the same cold look he'd been shunned out of the house with all that time ago (it felt like years)- just now, there was a little less disapproval in his father's eyes, and in its place, perhaps a little of the pride Luke always saw reflected there when those same eyes were looking at Luke's older brothers. Perhaps a little.

Wordlessly, Luke made his way up to his old bedroom that hadn't been touched since he left, and it made him feel sick- it was like his parents knew he was coming back. Like they'd known all along that something would go horribly wrong. Luke _did_ know that they probably didn't expect the horribly wrong thing to be in the form of a red-haired boy with beautiful tattoos and an eyebrow piercing, though. His old blue walls were still littered with the posters he'd had since he was just a kid, of all his favourite bands- although some were starting to peel off, leaving brighter patches of paint where the sun hadn't been able to fade them.

At least someone had made his bed since he'd been gone. But it still wasn't as comfy or soft or warm as Luke remembered. It was just a bed. And he wanted so desperately for every to just feel like home again- for his family to look at him the same way they did before he told them he didn't want what they wanted for him (although he'd always been looked down upon his entire life, really), and for everything to just be _okay_. But it wasn't okay; Luke wasn't sure if it would ever be okay again.

He was still going to try, though. Maybe he would live miserably for the rest of his life, studying something he'd always hated, surrounded by a family who always looked upon him as a disappointment. But...there was no buts. There was nothing good for him here. Why did he ever leave?

Conflict. That was all that Luke could feel inside, crawling up his throat and squeezing his airways until he couldn't breathe. His phone lay glinting in the darkness on his bedside table, teasing him from where he was curled up late at night in his childhood bed, crying his eyes out- and his body was screaming at him to reach out to it. Call Michael. Text Michael. _Anything_.

But no- no, he couldn't. He was here for a reason; he wasn't turning back. He couldn't. He'd just get hurt over, and over, and over again. Ashton would be leaving and Luke would be alone, and he couldn't bare to live opposite the red haired "punk" boy whom he loved so dearly, because said boy apparently hated him, and Calum probably hated him too now and Luke couldn't go back. He was home. He should be happy.

But there he was, well past midnight, sobbing until his eyes were red and sore and puffy.  
And Luke sunk his teeth into the pillow, biting down hard, and he cringed when he felt the hot tears trickling off the end of his nose with each sob that wracked his body, and he weakly kicked off his shoes and jeans that he'd failed to change out of in all the hours that he'd been home, until he was just a pile of cries and sniffles dressed in a t-shirt which he realised, with a violent shudder, was actually Michael's, and a pair of boxers, shivering even beneath the duvet. And Luke had never felt so pathetic in all his life. Because all he wanted- all he needed, in that moment-

was _Michael_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for infrequent updates, I'm in the middle of exams but I'll still try to update as often as possible. I hope you're enjoying this, and please remember to leave kudos and feedback if you are!! It means the world


	12. He stands on a ledge (he says "it looks so high")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Long Way Down by Tom Odell.

All Calum could think about was how peaceful the city looked from so far up. Usually, when he was down on the street, or staring out of the tiny grimy windows of his lecture hall, it looked dirty and busy and blurry- he hated it. Too many people, all rushing past in a hurry to get to somewhere that inevitably was probably of no importance whatsoever in the long run, and the air thick with a smog that almost made him gag- so thick and heavy and smokey. And the cars would zoom and screech on their never ending missions to beat each other in life's never ending competition to be at the top, and it made Calum feel sick.

Up here, there was none of that. It was almost terrifying how tall the apartment block was, but he couldn't bring himself to care, really. He just focused on everything in front of him instead of below him- the way the white clouds went iridescent and wispy in the pinky shadows the sun cast across the city, and how the skyscrapers were mere silhouettes against the colourful horizon, and how everything seemed to glow. The gentle breeze picked up a bit, pushing curls onto his face, and sending the tears on his cheeks a little off-track, so they swerved around the curve of his cheekbones, but he didn't have the energy in him to wipe them away. His legs swung back and forth, the edge of the roof jutting out just far enough that his feet couldn't hit the side of the building. It just took one push. One big push and it'd all be over.

Who'd miss him? No one probably. Well, that was a lie. Calum knew Michael would miss him, and perhaps Ashton too- maybe even Luke- but they'd get over it. His family wouldn't miss him. They hadn't missed him over the past months; why would they start now? Everyone looked so tiny from way up here. Like a large crawling crowd, reduced to nothing by the height. No one could see him up here.

The concrete borders of the roof were cold and uncomfortable beneath him; he'd been sat up there for what felt like hours, but truth be told, he'd lost track of time entirely. It was definitely growing colder now, the chill of the long autumn nights beginning to set in and form tiny pale goosebumps on Calum's dark skin, and he shivered involuntarily. He had to do it soon. It had to be done. There was nothing else to live for. And no- he wasn't just about to kill himself by jumping off an eight storey building because someone had destroyed his stupid painting (although really, it had been the tipping point that had pushed him up here)- it was everything. It'd always been an option, in Calum's mind. More times than not, the only option. He'd just never been brave enough to do it. Another of his faults, really. One of many.

Yet he was too weak to leave without saying goodbye. He was weak. But he was going to do it. He was going to launch himself off the edge of the damn building and onto the filthy pavement so many feet below, where he'd be so dead they'd have to scrape him up. It was disgusting and selfish, Calum knew- but it was the easiest way out. He didn't have a gun, or pills (there were Michael's sleeping pills, but Michael needed those, and Calum wasn't going to be a complete dick in his last moments). Calum knew Michael was out, wandering the city aimlessly in a desperate search for Luke- when in reality, they all knew Luke had gone home, and the only goodbye he'd sent was a short message- so he almost definitely wasn't going to pick up his phone anyway.

And that hurt Calum's heart- but it would be easier this way. He'd written a note, anyway- it was short, and creased and crumpled and lying on the rickety old coffee table back in the flat- but they'd find it, and Michael would understand. Michael would know why he'd done this- because he was weak, and he was a coward. He couldn't risk Michael reading the text and coming to stop him. He couldn't hurt his friend, who was already hurting plenty enough anyway. He didn't deserve it.

He'd written to Luke in the note, too. And Ashton, despite all his strongest attempts to stop himself. But again, he was weak. Weak, weak, weak. He couldn't resist. He had to say goodbye, no matter how much the older boy with the smile that could resurrect dying stars had hurt him.

Calum knew Ashton was actually leaving today- that he wouldn't even find the note himself- but Michael could pass it on to him easily enough. Again, Calum couldn't risk Ashton coming to find him. He didn't know when he was due to leave; he didn't care. He wasn't going to say goodbye anyway. Who would? He probably thought Calum was still upset with him. But who could stay upset at Ashton?

Jesus Christ, he was in love. But it was good. No, it wasn't. He was going to die soon anyway, so what did it matter? Ashton would get over him. No one would care. He'd just be another hopeless soul who'd seen no other way out but a 100 foot drop to death- someone who people maybe stopped for a second and gasped at as he hit the ground, but soon enough they'd carry on their way, and Michael would cry his eyes out because Michael had this love for Calum that Calum could never and would never understand, but eventually he'd stop, and there'd be a funeral that a minimal amount of people would actually turn up to, and then he'd be lowered into the ground and he'd rot away for the rest of eternity- and that would be that.

He knew he should be scared- that it was a usual human instinct to feel fear when you were one push away from being nothing more than just another dead person- but he didn't. He'd tried this before. When he'd been younger, there used to be a bridge that stretched over a deep rocky river- high enough that it'd almost certainly kill you if you fell (or jumped, in Calum's sorry case) off of it. And he'd tried. But when Michael had literally been there to rip Calum back off the edge the second he actually worked up enough courage to push himself down into the fierce waters below, it had obviously failed miserably. Michael had cried a lot, that day. He'd also made Calum promise never to do it again. And Calum had promised. The only catch was, he'd kept his fingers crossed behind his back.

Calum would miss Michael. Calum would miss Luke, too. Calum would miss Ashton a lot. But at least somewhere, in his brief pitiful existence, he'd been able to find something that resembled love even in the slightest. It hurt, but it'd been nice while it lasted. He really did love Ashton. Call Ashton. Call Ashton. Call ashtoncallashtoncallashton-

He really wanted to. His fingers hovered over the screen, clinging tight to the shiny metal as the wind threatened to blow the stupid device out of his hands and on a spiral down to the concrete. He held on. Call Ashton- no, don't, don't.

Too late. It was ringing. He could still hang up, he could throw the phone away, he could-

"Hello?"

Ashton sounded breathless, and that was when Calum realised that he'd picked up ridiculously quickly- after only a ring or two. If Calum was delusional, he'd believe that Ashton had been waiting for a call from him. But no one waited for a call from Calum. Meaningless, useless, a waste-

"Calum?"

Fuck. What was he even supposed to say? His brain- his fucked up, tired, ugly brain- hadn't even thought about what he was actually going to say. He could hear Ashton breathing down the phone, loud and clear and somehow, even the small exhales still sounded more beautiful than anything Calum had ever heard before. Maybe even more beautiful than some of the songs Michael wrote, and that was hard to beat. He opened his mouth to say something, his mind still fuzzy and blurry; his body betrayed him. His vocal chords constricted at the last moment, throat tightening so all he could let out was a confused and broken sob, and then he couldn't hear Ashton's wonderful breathing on the other end of the line anymore- like it was caught in the other boy's throat- and Calum was met with silence and the gentle sound of static and cars- Ashton was on a road, somewhere. Maybe he was far away from here. Calum hoped so.

"I-" Well, it was a word, at least. He couldn't really manage much more. He hoped Ashton understood.

"Calum?" Urgent and concerned. No.

"Ash- f-fuck, I-I-" He couldn't even form a proper fucking sentence without his tongue getting caught, or his words becoming stuck behind the boulder that was lodged tight in his throat. Pathetic. Stupid and pathetic. Hot tears fell faster down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut, damp eyelashes clinging to one another.

" _Shhh_...what's the matter, Calum?" Ashton was trying to sound soft and calm. Calum wondered if he knew what was going on. Or what was about to happen. He really, really, prayed that Ashton was clueless as to the fact that he was a mere slip away from death.

"I have...I h-have to say goodbye. P-properly. " He was sobbing harder now, but they weren't his usual panicky wobbly tears that he could never seem to quell- they were content. Not happy, but content. Because he was going to do it. Finally. He was going to do it. He _had_ to do it.

"What do you mean?" Ashton sounded like he was about to collapse, and Calum hated himself for doing that to the boy who was usually so happy and collected. Ashton knew. He had to know by now.

"I f-fucking...love you, A-Ash." There. He'd said it. Happy now?  
"Sorry..." He added as an afterthought, because who wanted Calum's love or affection?

"I love you too," Ashton laughed a little shakily, relief evident in his voice, but it was scared too, and nervous, and frantic and everything Calum had never wanted to hear coming out of Ashton's mouth (besides the words themselves). "Where are you?"

Calum paused. _No. Don't tell him. Don't. Just do it. Fucking- throw yourself over the edge and be done with it. DO IT._  
"I-I'm-"  
Don't. Stop. Don't tell Ashton. _DonottellAshton_.   
"On the-"  
No. No, no, no _nononono_ -  
"R-r..."

"Where, Calum? Where are you?"

Calum let out an agonised cry and threw the phone to the ground. It promptly shattered. He couldn't tell Ashton. He couldn't. He got to his feet, the wind rushing past his ears and staining them a bright red. This was it. Do it.

_Do it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who's still reading this, if you enjoyed please leave a comment or kudos!! Feedback means a lot to me :)


	13. Wanted to be a better adversary to the evil I have done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Polarize by Twenty One Pilots.

Ashton had to leave. He knew he did. There was virtually no choice in the matter.

At least, that was what he'd thought- until he'd received that call; gentle vibrations in his back pocket escalating into him running back the way he'd came as quickly as his legs would carry him. And he knew that he should leave- because he'd been stupid to ever think that maybe he'd escaped Brendon (he didn't even know how Brendon had found him; he didn't care) and that he had a chance at a normal fucking life, and he'd somehow managed to fuck everything up for three other perfectly decent (or more than decent) peoples' lives too- but he couldn't. How was he supposed to when Calum was about to throw himself off a building?

Now, okay, maybe he didn't know that for certain- but after redialling Calum again and again after the younger boy had seemingly hung up and receiving no response but a generated voicemail message- it was as good a guess as any. And really, what else could "I'm on the r-" mean?

It had to be the roof. And by roof, he meant the roof of the apartment building. It was relatively easy to get to, if you knew how to get past the door- Ashton knew from all the times he'd followed Luke up there (damn, did that sound creepy); the younger boy seemed to like taking photographs of the city below, and Ashton couldn't say he blamed him. You weren't strictly allowed up there, but the view it offered was well worth the energy required to practically break down the old rusty door, stiff from years of disuse. It was beautiful, and more than once, Ashton had sought inspiration for his poems and such from the way the sun curved in an arc through the dewy misty morning sky, soaring way over the tops of skyscrapers and tinting their shimmering glass a glaring golden, and how the yellowy whitish glow from the street lamps so far below seemed to light up the entire city like a never-changing constellation, and how headlights of cars flew past like shooting stars, blurring together and creating some sort of abstract pattern that reminded Ashton vaguely of Calum, in a weird kinda way.

 _Calum_. Ashton's legs moved a little faster, ducking and diving through the busy thrumming crowds that swarmed the narrow pavements; he realised with a small lurch of his stomach that he'd left his suitcase at the train station in his hurry, but he couldn't really have cared less. Calum. Calum, Calum, Calum. He was going to kill himself, and Ashton didn't want to know why. Maybe it was because of him. But then again, Ashton doubted Calum would ever do something so rash over someone such as himself. Besides, Calum had said that he loved him. That counted for something. Right?

Ashton was sure he was going to be sick. Maybe it was from the way every heave of oxygen burnt his ragged throat as his pace only increased and he ran faster and faster down the street, or the fact that Calum was going to die- or, alternatively, could already be dead. Ashton didn't want to think about that possibility. Not at all. He'd given up trying to apologise to all of the people he'd knocked into in his abruptness and haste- they weren't important.

He was almost there- so close, he could see their block towering above the street below just around the corner. He burst through a gaggle of businessmen, running a hand through his sweaty curls as he panted desperately, willing his body to keep moving. Ashton thanked whoever was listening that he'd worn shorts and a tank today, despite the fact it was a relatively cold day- some unknown entity had apparently had the foresight to condemn him to a day of shivering for the sake of Calum, and Ashton took that as a good sign. Had he worn anything warmer, he would've passed out ages ago.

Failing to look before crossing the road- careless- he'd be of no use to Calum dead himself. But Ashton would much rather be honked at by taxis jamming on their brakes as he sprinted in front of them all day, than he would see Calum lying dead on the floor. Obviously. Then again, Ashton supposed that anyone so desperate to end it all that they'd throw themselves off an eight storey building wasn't exactly _alive_ anyway- not really. He shook that image out of his head as he dodged past a few more cars- he didn't want to think about that. Calum would be fine. There were a few more screeches of tyres on the concrete that shone in the rapidly diminishing sunset beams that found their way through the gaps between large important-looking buildings- until Ashton was finally safely on the other side, and hurtling towards the door to his (old) apartment block.

He didn't stop. Couldn't stop. He virtually flew up the rickety stairs, silently thanking himself for working on his stamina every chance he'd had to go for a run over the past few weeks in the chilly morning breeze that seemed to lurk around for hours. He trod so lightly the dirty old floorboards barely even creaked underneath his feet.

He went up, up, up- past the floor that their apartments were situate on- where Calum _should've_ been. He wasn't supposed to be on the roof, contemplating death. Ashton reminded himself that maybe Calum had already contemplated it. Maybe he was too late.

 _Don't_ \- say that. It seemed an eternity (far too long) until finally, finally, he was on the top floor, the creaky old door with the faded yellowing wood and the brass chipped handle that'd clearly been messed with recently, staring him right in the face. Ashton wasn't sure he wanted to face what was on the other side. He didn't want to go through and see Calum there, readying himself for the 100 foot drop to an inevitable that'd come much too soon- but then again, it'd probably be worse going through and _not_ seeing Calum stood there, because that would mean-

That would mean that Calum, the only boy he'd ever loved with all his heart, passionately and wonderfully and blissfully- was dead. Ashton couldn't have that. Ashton couldn't _face_ that.

Opened.   
Cold.   
_Calum_.

The younger boy was stood on the small brick wall that surrounded the roof, positively teetering on the edge, and Ashton finally allowed himself to pause. The small break didn't stop his heart rate from skyrocketing as Calum turned to face him, though- the long tiresome run here combined with the tear tracks down the dark-haired boy's face sending his breathing into overdrive.

Calum sobbed when he saw him, and Ashton let out one of his own- because this wasn't how he'd wanted to see Calum again. Or ever, really. Ashton panted- felt the desperation painting his own features as the nighttime wind blew stronger, and Calum seemed to quiver- Ashton was terrified he was going to blow away.

"Ash, why're you-"  
Calum cut off as his breath hitched in his throat with another strangled cry, and Ashton decided that maybe he'd realised the ridiculousness of his half-finished question, because of _course_ Ashton was going to come- or maybe he was just crying too hard. Either way, Ashton could feel his heart slowly shattering like glass, cracks spidering across the surface until pieces fell out of the painful cobweb of hurt and tumbled to land somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Like someone was ripping it apart. He supposed, in the current scenario, that person was Calum.

Much to his dismay, Calum's head started shaking the second Ashton took so much as a step forward- he froze. He wasn't going to risk it. How did they end up here? How long had Calum felt this way? Ashton hoped _not long_ , although the feeling in his gut told him different. Calum didn't deserve it. Calum deserved only love, and happiness, and Ashton would gladly give the world to him- if only Calum would let him. In Ashton's mind, the world was not just a plummet down to the pavement. There was so much more- and although currently, in his short and somewhat miserable existence, Ashton hadn't really experienced much more himself- he'd never been so sure of anything in his entire life.

"Cal, please-" Ashton cringed at the helplessness in his own voice- at the way he begged and pleaded, yet still Calum only continued to squeeze his eyes shut tight and shake his head even harder- "don't."

His voice cracked painfully with each slow and torturous syllable he uttered; the words felt so abnormal coming out of his mouth. Ashton had never pleaded before. Had never been- or felt- so pathetically helpless and weak. But he'd get down on his knees and beg in front of the entire world for Calum. Screw his dignity. And damn, did that sound cheesy- like it was from some cliche teenage romance movie- but those always had happy endings. Ashton desperately needed a happy ending now.

"I-I-I have to d-do it-" Calum sobbed, tugging frantically on the sleeves of his grey sweater that seemed to make his golden skin glow all the more in the lowering sun and the rising light of the moon, pulling the paws down around his shaking hands, the tear tracks running down his rosy reflecting the light of the stars- a bright, iridescent shimmer. "I- I c-can't f-fucking do this, any- anymore."

It was spoken so quietly, yet the pain in Calum's voice was so obvious, chilling Ashton to the bone. This had to stop. This was wrong, wrong, wrong _wrongwrongwrong_ \- Calum had to do _this_ , whatever _this_ was. Whatever _this_ the Maori boy was referring to. He had to keep doing it- just a little bit longer. No, not just a little bit longer- forever longer- he had to keep doing everything that made Calum- _Calum_ \- for as long as possible.

"No, Calum, please-"  
Calum took the tiniest shuffle back, but it was enough to nearly give Ashton a heart attack- his heart stopped entirely in his chest, his breath catching and failing to escape his constricting throat, and Ashton felt everything slowly unravel. He didn't care anymore. The only thing Ashton really had left to lose- was Calum. And he wasn't sure why he'd only just realised that. But he had. Calum was all he had. Calum was all he had. Calum-

"You're all I have!" Ashton took a step forward. Calum's eyes opened- large chocolate brown orbs that shon a deep honey golden in the beams of sun widening in surprise(?), thick black eyelashes stuck together by salty tears, skimming the few hairs of his soft dark eyebrows that crept further down than the rest- and the younger boy froze. Frozen like a statue; the only movement visible the tangled curls that blew onto his caramel forehead and into his watery eyes with the gusts of wind that seemed to be picking up now- the wind that made Ashton painfully uneasy when he noticed how fragile and small Calum looked, and when he realised that- yes- Calum probably actually could blow away.

"Don't be stupid." It was barely a whisper, weak and hardly carrying itself across the few metres of rooftop in between them, but Ashton heard it and recoiled. It was the truth, yet Calum didn't believe him. Ashton wondered why.

"I'm- I'm not, Calum, I swear. You're the only thing I've got left."  
Guilt-tripping Calum into submission really wasn't the approach he'd been going for, but it seemed to be working. Just a little bit. The waver in his voice worked well, too, and Ashton could see Calum's knees beginning to wobble (although, on second thought, that probably wasn't particularly safe when you were balanced on the edge of an eight storey building).

"Don't do this Calum- please, just-"  
"No, no, no- I've got to!" Calum was tugging on his hair in frustration, and Ashton could almost visibly see the obvious conflict that was working away inside his head. Even more tears spilled over, big wet ones rolling down Calum's face and splashing onto the concrete below. "I c-can't- there's n-nothing left-"

"Yes, there is," Ashton cried, "you've still got Luke, and Michael, and- you've still got me, Cal."  
"I don't even know you, Ashton."  
Fuck. Shit. No, no, no- Calum was right. Ashton had barely even talked to him since the incident, let alone explained. Calum probably thought he was some kind of evil drug dealing maniac- like Brendon. Ashton wasn't like Brendon- the complete opposite, in fact. But how could he expect Calum to know that?

"Yes, you do! I'm still Ashton. It's still me. Please, Cal, it didn't mean anything- I'm sorry-"

Calum turned around, his usually-broad back that was currently hunched over and shaking with the force of heaving, heavy breathless sobs facing Ashton now, instead of Calum's wonderful, wonderful face. And Ashton went still entirely. Please don't, please don't, _don't_. The younger boy shifted marginally further towards the edge, and Ashton watched in horror as he finally brought his hands down to his sides- his fingers uncurling and letting the sleeves of his jumper spring back up to where they were supposed to be, just hanging loosely around his wrists- and stopped breathing, like he was readying himself to fall, and his shoulders slumped and he sobbed, and Ashton sobbed too.

"I have to do this." Calum said quietly, his voice scarily monotone and unwavering, and Ashton didn't know why it was so hard to say because he'd already admitted it just ten minutes before, but he choked, and only just managed to force out an:

"I love you."   
Calum turned around, his big doe eyes reflecting all the hurt inside and it made Ashton feel sick. Made his stomach lurch. He would've laughed at how, even now, Calum still resembled a puppy- a hurt puppy who'd been kicked without an apology, or cast out in the rain for no apparent reason- but now wasn't really an appropriate time to laugh, and Ashton definitely didn't have it in him anyway.   
"I love you," he repeated louder, and Calum let out a sob that almost resembled a shaky laugh, and Ashton felt a strange cold warmth (however the hell that worked) fill him, like maybe- just maybe- everything was going to be okay. He voiced as much-

"You're gonna be alright, Cal. I love you. I'm gonna look after you. I promise."  
Calum did laugh then- quiet and watery and forced and empty and still pained- but a laugh nonetheless, his eyes crinkling despite the downturned corners of his full lips, forcing more tears to go running more shiny lines down the sides of his face, and some came to land in his dimples and Ashton smiled- a relieved, desperate shaky smile.

"I love you."

Calum fell.

 

  
Not off the edge of the building, but into Ashton's arms. The way it should be. Thank fuck. And Calum's smile disappeared as he sobbed into Ashton's neck, burying his face into the crook of Ashton's shoulder, but Ashton didn't mind- he was just relieved. Immensely so. He'd never been so relieved in his entire life, in fact. Ashton positively engulfed him- his arms locking around the boy in a way that let him know- he was never letting go. His hands grabbed fistfuls of Calum's soft jumper, tugging him ever closer as the younger boy went completely slack on his lap where the two had sunk down onto the floor together, leaning into Ashton entirely as he sobbed against him, the vibrations from the ragged cries sending shivers seemingly through every single nerve in Ashton's body.

"Shh, you're okay, I've got you." He whispered against Calum where his lips were pressed firmly atop the messy curls that smelt of vanilla- the curls that never seemed to stop smelling of that wonderful scent that was just so Calum- rocking the both of them back and forth, gently, carding his fingers through the dark hair.

"You weren't- weren't s-supposed-" Calum couldn't finish his sentence, and Ashton suspected it was something to do with the lump in his throat that had to be there, that mirrored Ashton's own.   
"I know, Cal, I know."  
He didn't know. He didn't know half of what he was talking about, didn't know why Calum had sought out _suicide_ (there, he'd said it) as the best way out, didn't know what was going to happen in the future. But it was all he had. And it was enough.

Calum's sobs subsided into sniffles as he quivered against Ashton's chest, and the boy curled up in his arms, and Ashton ran his rough fingertips across any of Calum's skin he could find, tracing patterns into the tawny golden brown, caressing it softly. Calum sighed shakily, his hold on Ashton's shirt- that quite frankly, Ashton hadn't even realised was there- loosening a little.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"  
Of course he didn't. Too soon. Much too soon. What did he even expect Calum to say? Calum, of course, shook his head in the little space he had nestled in Ashton's shoulder, but he opened his mouth to mumble quietly, "what am I gonna do?" A small sniffle finished it off at the end, and Ashton could feel Calum's warm breath painting his skin, the vapour leaving it damp and hot and brilliant in the cold air of the growing night, as the sun continued to fall below the boundaries of the roof, and down behind the silhouetted skyscrapers in the sunset light.

"You'll figure it out," he breathed out eventually, curling his finger around a loose strand of Calum's fluffy hair. " _We'll_ figure it out," Ashton added as an afterthought, and Calum seemed to relax even more into his touch.

They stayed there in peaceful silence, Calum slowly sinking even further into Ashton's strong hold; Ashton's entire body was beginning to cramp, but he couldn't care less. Subtly, he wiped away a few of his own tears that'd streaked his cheeks, careful not to let Calum see. He didn't need Calum feeling bad, or something; no matter how ridiculous that sounded, Calum always had a way of turning things around on himself.

It was only when Ashton felt Calum still trembling underneath his touch and decided that the bitter air was probably doing nothing to help that he suggested going inside, and Calum gladly agreed. Ashton got to his feet first, pulling Calum up after him and lacing an arm under the other boy's brown ones, raising his other hand to gently wipe away the tear stains that streaked Calum's blotchy face, thumb brushing over his soft cheeks gently. And Calum's bottom lip trembled the whole time, like he was trying not to cry again, and Ashton could feel him struggling to stay upright so he held on a little tighter, and he tried desperately to ignore the way Calum glanced _longingly_ over his shoulder back towards the edge of the building as Ashton half-carried him through the door back down to the apartments, but his stomach still lurched.

He pulled Calum into his own (old) apartment (which he supposed he'd have to try and reclaim now, because there wasn't a chance in _hell_ he was leaving Calum alone again) because currently, with such little furniture inside, it was plain and simple yet cosy, nonetheless, and that was what Calum needed. Nothing too extravagant or confusing or anything that could potentially set the younger boy off again- and Ashton knew he was probably exaggerating a lot, and being a tad overprotective, but he'd always been careful. Not always careful enough, but careful.

And he sat Calum down gently on the edge, and the boy let Ashton guide him and move him around like he had no control of his own, eyes staring blankly ahead of him at a random patch of white-washed wall, and it made Ashton feel uneasy so he moved directly in front of him, crouching down slowly so they were eye to eye, and placed a hand on each shoulder, and he smiled his widest smile-

It was stupid, really. Smiling at someone who'd been so ready to die just minutes before. But Ashton's smile never failed to make Calum smile, no matter what, and as he felt his own smile widen and the dimples begin to crease his face, the corners of Calum's lips twitched up in a tiny forced one- it was something, at least. And Ashton's smile grew impossibly wider, at that; he wasn't sure whether he was trying to comfort Calum or himself anymore.

He moved down to pull Calum's shoes off- stomach doing a somersault when he realised they were the same beaten-up Nike trainers from before, and he slowly and carefully undid the laces like the shoes were ready to fall apart at any given moment. Again, they slipped off easily, and Ashton tucked them under the bed, before pushing down on Calum's shoulders so the younger boy was lying in the sheets, watching Ashton expectantly.

Ashton smiled at him again- the way his eyes were already drooping the minute his dark curly head hit the pillow- and he pushed himself into the bed next to Calum, wrapping his arms around said boy once more, taking a big long sigh as he did. Because Ashton had barely stopped since he'd left the train station, and he was exhausted. And Calum felt so nice- so warm, and soft and tawny and beautiful and everything Ashton adored, and so he pulled the other boy impossibly closer to his chest, where Calum glanced up at him through long dark eyelashes with big dark eyes. Ashton ignored the obvious bags underneath them, and the puffiness and blotchiness of his face where he'd been crying (perhaps for hours, even)- instead electing to smooth Calum's unruly hair back out of his face, and sighing again as their legs intertwined and their fingers interlaced. Their faces were so close together- barely a few inches between them- and Ashton _knew_ he shouldn't. That what he _so badly_ wanted to do was _wrong_ , like taking advantage, or something. Because Calum was in distress; now wasn't the time. But after laying there in silence for so long, Calum seemed to pick up on the unspoken tension between them, too, and his bloodshot eyes were flicking between Ashton's own eyes and his lips, and he wet his own full dry ones, and it seemed like the perfect invitation-

Ashton wasn't sure who moved first. He just knew that in a blurry instant their lips had connected, and everything felt so _right_ \- the happenings of just minutes before gone from his mind. In fact, almost everything was gone from his mind- it was just a blank white space, only filled with sparks and _Calum_. It didn't matter if it was technically wrong. Because Calum was kissing him back just as hard, if not harder, and it was Ashton who was the reluctant one here- not Calum. And when Ashton could feel Calum's breath on his own upper lip from where he was exhaling quickly through his nose, they didn't stop- instead, Calum just laced a hand through Ashton's hair and pulled him in even deeper. Eventually, as with all perfect things, it had to come to an end- the two of them finally separating, breathing heavily, and Calum's eyes never opening. His mouth was parted slightly as he panted, his eyebrows drawn tightly together, and his eyes still completely sealed and...wet with the _tears_ that had apparently returned at some point? Calum was _crying_. Hadn't he liked it? Hadn't he wanted it? Why the _fuck_ was Calum crying? Oh shit, oh shit-

"Are you alright?" It was all he could manage as he used his hands to cup Calum's face, quickly wiping away at the god forbidden tears, and oh god, what had he done? It was a stupid question, anyway, because Calum definitely didn't seem okay. But then again, how could Ashton expect him to? Why had he possibly imagined that Calum was okay? That he was even remotely ready to be _kissed?_ This had probably just ruined everything completely-

Calum cracked his eyes open, the tiniest hint of a smile inching its way onto his tired, tired face. Thank fuck.

Dark hair tumbled into Calum's face as he sniffled loudly, before he finally whispered out a quiet, "I love you."

Everything was so serene and silent and still, and Calum let out a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving Ashton's face like he was waiting for something, and Ashton gave it to him- he'd been waiting to say it again for ages, and this time, he didn't know why, but it felt more real and genuine and special than any other time he'd said it, and-

"I love you, Cal. I'm never going to leave you. I _promise_."

He lowered his voice to a gentle whisper, letting his lips brush softly against the other boy's ear;

_"You're gonna be alright."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for inconsistent updates but this time next week exams will be over, so I should be able to upload more. Thank you for reading, please leave comments to let me know if you're enjoying!!


	14. Ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Colors by Halsey.

Calum thrust the canvas into his art teacher's old, wrinkled pale hands, dotted with age and shaking a little from years of bringing a paintbrush to a canvas with such an expertise and precision that he couldn't help but envy.

She held it up, placing it on a nearby easel so she could examine it properly. It was after school hours, and Calum couldn't help but feel bad for keeping her behind- but today was the last day he could get this project in.

He watched her nervously, heart dropping as her thin wintery eyebrows shot up, and she turned to him slowly, thin faded lips pursed.

"This-" she gestured to the piece in front of them, her voice slow and measured like she was talking to a child, "-is a portrait. The project brief _specifically_ said thoughts and-"

He then thrust the essay into her hands, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he chewed on it, watching her every move carefully; her eyebrows never left their high-up position on her creased brow, a few stray white wispy hairs falling into her shockingly blue-grey eyes.

And okay, perhaps in terms of actually fucking _succeeding in life_ , a _5000_ word essay that'd been condensed down to just _4_ may not exactly have been enough- but to Calum, it _felt_ like enough. Those four words that summed everything up perfectly- screw his thoughts and feelings, he didn't need to go into depth. It was all right there, on the sheet of paper. Everything anyone needed to know. And if it wasn't sufficient- whatever. He didn't care anymore- well, _okay_ , maybe he did a _bit_ , because Calum always cared- but no matter the outcome of the shitty project, he still had Ashton.

The same wonderful boy staring straight back at him from the canvas right now- that same painting Calum had created what felt like an eternity ago, that night Ashton had taken him to the park- back before everything else, when all had been perfect and nice and _good_. Those four words that summed everything up perfectly;

_"Because I love him."_

And if that wasn't the best explanation Calum could come up with- well, then, he was doomed to fail anyway. This was somehow better than that stupid painting that'd been shredded (although Calum still hated thinking about it; sometimes it kept him awake at night), because it was real. Not just a pile of well-crafted bullshit- it actually _meant_ something. It was perfect, Calum thought. Not necessarily _artistically_ , because Calum was never one to blow his own trumpet, but in terms of everything else. Ashton was his thoughts, and Ashton was his feelings. Ashton was the wind that blew softly through his hair, the refreshing air never failing to calm him down when anxiety made his heart thud in his chest, and Ashton was the last rays of the setting sun finding their way through the cracks in his blinds that warmed his dark skin on the cold nights, and Ashton was the boy with the caramel eyes that lit up Calum's life entirely with the way they sparkled and glimmered and led him to some kind of sense of _happiness_ , and Ashton was the colourful paint he could never get off his skin the next morning, which really, he secretly liked, because the different metallic shades helped him to relax when he watched them shimmer in the sunlight, and Ashton was everything and anything that fucking helped, and Ashton made the voices inside his head stop and Ashton made every bad feeling of dread, or hurt or fear or _panic_ -

disappear.

And Calum really-  _really-_ fucking loved him.

She sighed, then- pushing her glasses down the bridge of her nose to look at him properly over the faded purple rims, her lips drawn again in a tight line, wrinkles creasing as she opened her mouth to say-

"Well, I suppose we'll see what the examiners have to say about this, Mr Hood."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short but it's really more of a filler chapter, but the good news is exams are finally over, so I should be back to updating regularly! Please let me know if you're enjoying this and thank you to anyone who's still reading x


	15. Can't stop thinking of your diamond mind (and those ocean eyes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish.

Empty. The streets may have been full, and the carriage of the train packed to the brim with tired or bustling passengers- but without Luke beside him, everything felt so empty. Michael wasn't even sure where he was anymore.

A train station. He knew that much. A train station in a city that he only knew from Luke's words when they'd first met- he'd never been before, and he certainly didn't know whereabout said boy was in the city. It was just a city. No address. No postcode, no street name- no anything. Just the name of a city, and a photograph of the blonde boy with the dazzling blue eyes tucked away in his jacket pocket.

And even then, it was only based on a guess. Michael didn't even know that Luke was here. But he'd searched endlessly back around the university and the rest of the city- the library, the entire fucking apartment block, even- and Luke had been nowhere to be found. This was the only other place Michael could think of. The only other place Luke would go. It had to be. Surely. _Home_.

That word brought a horrible taste to Michael's mouth, because home just didn't seem to exist anymore. He'd had a home- well, really, it'd been more of a house just filled with cold people who couldn't stand him- but now, it seemed like Luke was his home. What are you supposed to do when your home runs away from you? That sounded really shitty when Michael thought about it- that he'd driven Luke to literally run away- but in reality, it wasn't that bad. It wasn't like that. Was it?

Michael threw his return ticket in the bin, because he wasn't leaving without Luke- and he figured he'd probably be here for a while (the train ticket would have long since expired by the time he found the younger boy). It fluttered away, but Michael didn't mind. The paper was meaningless without Luke. The next time Michael would buy a ticket back, it'd be with Luke stood next to him, the boy's long pale fingers wrapped up in his own (that was how determined he was). And okay, maybe Luke didn't really have much reason to go back with Michael- but Michael wasn't giving up. He'd rather spend the rest of his life out here in the cold (that he should've brought a thicker jacket for, damnit) searching, than never see Luke again.

An hour later, and this was much harder than Michael had anticipated. It wasn't a big city- it was small, yet cosy and everyone's idea of perfect; there was a big park in the centre, multiple schools with happy children whose childhoods Michael instantly and involuntarily envied when he saw them skipping along holding hands with loving parents, and a street full of shops and quaint cafés and bars, and neighbourhoods with flowers in the gardens and people watering their big green lawns outside their white picket fenced houses- but no matter how small, Luke was nowhere to be seen. Michael did indeed use the photograph, asking if anyone knew who Luke was, or more importantly, _where_ he was- but to no avail.

Michael considered maybe pulling a _Man Who Can't Be Moved._ Maybe wait for Luke to come to _him_. But then again, he wasn't sure if it actually worked. When he listened to the song, it didn't seem like it (call him pessimistic). And while he vowed he was never going to stop looking, it was dark and cold now and people were going back inside and Michael was tired- so, _so_ , tired- and he didn't know where he was and he just wanted _Luke_.

That was how Michael found himself sat on a bar stool in one of the nice little bars that mostly served alcohol that was much too expensive for his empty pockets, but one that also had a friendly bar manager and other friendly customers who somehow sensed his growing desperation and melancholy, and told him it was on the house. And Michael found himself wondering for what felt like the millionth time- how did he end up here? He wasn't just some washed up, lonely, heartbroken man who people took pity on, and who drowned his sorrows in alcohol- but then again, he was, and Michael wanted to cry.

After a few rounds of drinks, he did. Most people had left at this point- probably because they had loving husbands and wives and children to go home to, and it made Michael angry how he had none of that. How life had screwed him over so many times, that now he was left crying over a shot of vodka in a strange and unfamiliar city- all alone. And his head was spinning and he knew he'd drunk far too much for one night and that that was probably the main cause of his fury- the incessant amounts of alcohol coursing through his blue veins- but he didn't care. He was angry nonetheless.

He missed Luke. Wanted Luke, needed Luke. Fucking Luke. What made him think it was okay to run off and just leave Michael like that? Because it wasn't. And, okay, maybe Michael had been a dick one too many times- but it hadn't been that bad...right? He had to make things better. It was just one of those things- no matter how small- that if you didn't fix, would inevitably eat away at you for the rest of your life. Michael already had enough things eating away at him.

Michael barely felt the vibration in his pocket as he scrubbed tiredly at his eyes, the buzz he'd felt from the alcohol beginning to crash now, and he pulled out his phone, slippy fingers fumbling with the device as his alcohol-induced brain struggled to coordinate with his body. It was a...text? Michael wasn't sure- the screen was too bright, and his vision too blurry.

Yep, a text. From...Ashton? Michael wasn't sure he could've read it even if he tried. He vaguely registered something along the lines of

"Where are you?"

before he was slipping it back into his pocket; he didn't have the energy or will to talk to Ashton right now. Why was Ashton texting anyway? Ashton was supposed to leave today, right? Well, Michael supposed it would've been yesterday, now, because the time was well past midnight. Shit. Why had the bar manager even put up with him this long?

 _Oh_.

He wasn't in the bar anymore. In his drunken stupor, Michael supposed he'd somehow managed to force himself out of the door and into the cold night air- without even realising...? Or maybe he'd finally been kicked out...whatever. It was cold. And Michael was really beginning to regret not wearing a thicker jacket now (the alcohol numbed it a bit, though).

Usually, he loved the stars, but today they just all merged together like car lights whizzing past on a busy highway, and even worse- they reminded him of the blond boy he was so desperate to find. As he stumbled down the darkened street, lit only dimly by a whitish-yellow glow from the street lamps which reflected off the jet black concrete, he could feel the tears stinging his face, the hot painful again his freezing skin. Where was Luke when you needed him? Oh, that was right- nowhere to be fucking found.

Luke was on his mind. Now, and always. There was nothing he could do about it. No way to rid himself of it- but then again, Michael wasn't sure he actually wanted to. He just knew he needed him.

He tripped clumsily over his own feet as the tears blurred his already distorted vision even more, and he found himself sobbing quietly, but loudly enough for anyone else to hear (although no one was actually out at this ridiculous hour of the night).

 _Oops_ \- no, he wasn't just tripping- he was fucking _falling_. With a tired and confused grunt, he felt his face make contact with wet slippy grass that smelt of weed killer (maybe it'd kill him, too), and his feet hit something on the way down that made a loud clatter on the pavement. _Fucking- fantastic_. He went to push himself up- but his arms were too shaky and weak and he was cold and tired and he just wanted to be home- but where was home? He'd already asked himself that a thousand times, and he was no closer to an answer. Just closer to the ground, instead, it seemed.

And then Michael started crying harder because he was lost in the middle of nowhere on a patch of grass, and it was too dark for him to make anything out even if he'd tried, and the world was spinning and twisting around him like a blurry kaleidoscope, out of focus and moving too fast, _too fast_ \- Michael was going to be sick. He was going to be sick, or he was going to pass out. How had he only just noticed the pounding sensation in his head, or the bile constantly lingering in the back of his throat?

He let his fists curl up in the grass, fingers wrapping around the long blades and tugging on them in frustration as he let his head sink back down into the wet earth, not caring about the weed killer- in fact, he hoped he fucking inhaled it in his sleep and died so this could all be over (perhaps a little drastic, but- whatever). Tears splashed down to bead together with the tiny drops of misty dew on the grass tinted a muted grey in the low light, and Michael could feel them trickling slowly and agonisingly down his face and they were making his cheeks itch, but he didn't have the energy to wipe them away.

And he had no idea how long he'd been lying there- it could've been a few minutes, it could've been a few seconds- but then his sluggish mind was making out the sound of a click (a door, perhaps?) and then a light was being flicked on from somewhere, and Michael decided it was probably from the house he was lying on the front lawn of. The same house whose bins he'd just knocked over into the street, apparently waking or disturbing the inhabitants. _Shit_.

And he moaned, twisting his head away from the light because it was much too bright, but he could hear footsteps proceeding down out of the house, and he was sure someone was towering over him, when-

"What the _fuck_?"

The voice was deep, and low, and had something disturbingly familiar about it, but Michael couldn't have made it out in his drunken mess anyway. He didn't even move. His vision darkening around the edges, eyes already having slowly fluttered shut, Michael decided that, yep- he was definitely going to pass out.

And he was nearly gone, all consciousness and sense slowly draining from him, before he heard it- a second set of footsteps, rushing out onto the lawn next to the first person and coming to an abrupt halt right beside Michael, and Michael would've been embarrassed at these two people staring at him, had he actually had the effort to _care_. He could hear this person breathing, and they sounded softer than the first, and almost shocked and disbelieving, and Michael was on the very teetering verge of unconsciousness before-

"Michael? Oh my god, _Michael!"_

  
And then he was out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry I've been neglecting the fuck out of this, but I think we've only got a few chapters left until the end! Also sorry for how short this update is, but please let me know if you enjoyed!! X


	16. I don't wanna waste it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Waste The Night by 5 Seconds of Summer.

The sunlight formed psychedelic patterns over glossy old posters that adorned the blue walls, the curtains only letting in small shafts from where they'd sloppily been shut, concealing most of the room in darkness- a room that definitely, definitely- was not Michael's own. As his eyes blinked against the intruding light, blearily and sleepily, his head feeling like it was full of a poisonous sort of fluff, Michael groaned, the first thing coming to his mind the pain that fell over his entire body in waves, instead of the panic that he should've felt at the new strange environment.

Last nights events were shrouded by a thick (alcoholic) fog in his mind; Michael remembered searching until his legs hurt and his eyes drooped and....and now he was here. Pushing himself up with yet another groan, he fully took in his surroundings- the posters he could see were of bands and musicians that Michael himself admired (Green Day, All Time Low, all music he'd listened to since he was a kid who didn't even know how to play guitar himself)- and the blue walls seemed slightly faded; darker patches were visible where some of the posters were just peeling off, evidently having been protected from the sun for what Michael suspected was a long time. Not to mention the furniture- upon closer inspection, the pale wooden bedside table next to him was covered in a slight sheen of dust, as well as the coaster and lamp that rested upon it, as if someone hadn't stayed here for a while, but their belongings had remained untouched. In the corner sat an unusual pile of boxes and a suitcase that seemed strangely familiar- filled to the brim with what looked like clothes and other miscellaneous possessions, but yet remained unpacked. The only thing on the bedside table that looked like it'd actually been used recently was a phone- his phone- and groaning, Michael picked it up and winced when he saw at least 10 missed calls from Ashton, a few from Calum and countless texts. They'd be worried. Of course they'd be worried- although Michael wasn't really sure Ashton had a right to be.

He was about to begrudgingly check them, just before there came a whistling from outside the door- chirpy, happy, almost _motherly_ \- and he froze as the brass doorknob twisted.

A short woman walked in, bustling and bright with ridiculously neat blonde, bouncy hair, and a set of blue eyes that Michael noticed almost immediately. His heart thudded in his chest when she didn't notice him straight away, instead moving in with what looked like a pile of laundry, placing it by the side of the tall wardrobe in the corner, and tutting with her back turned to him when she noticed the unpacked luggage in the corner.

Michael didn't have time to wonder who she was or whose room he was in before he was interrupted by a scream, and he near fucking jumped out of his very skin, springing up off the bed as the woman apparently finally noticed him, staring at him and squealing. He held his hands out in front of him (partially to calm her down, and admittedly partially to protect himself, because she looked as if she were about to either attack him with her perfectly manicured nails), but to no avail- the woman stopped screaming eventually, staring at him and breathing heavily for a moment before practically running out of the room, yelling a name which Michael was unable to hear through the rush of blood in his ears, and his heart trying to escape his rib cage.

He was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, phone in his pocket, his breathing coming quick through his nose. Surveying the room once more, he weighed up his options- he could stay here and wait and try to explain to the woman how the _fuck_ he got into her house (even though it appeared neither Michael nor the assumed owner of the house herself actually knew), or he could try and escape. Through the door was too risky, he could run into her again or she could be calling the police or yelling at her husband to come and beat Michael into the ground- jump out the window. He could jump out of the fucking window.

He'd seen Calum try it enough times before when he was panicking, although Michael had usually been there to talk him out of it, because jumping out of a window in a desperate attempt to end it all just wasn't going to work- as proved by the one time Michael _hadn't_ been there, had been on holiday, and Calum had only succeeded in breaking his leg (and fuck, Michael realised he'd left him alone again...he needed to get home, but he needed Luke too, and- fuck). So Michael knew for sure that he wasn't going to die, and....well, he could deal with a broken leg.

He yanked open the white curtains, and a hoop around the pole at the top accidentally popped off but Michael didn't have time to worry about that now- and now he realised that he didn't have his shoes or jacket either- but he was already struggling with the latch, trying not to throw up as his head span with all the effort he used to throw the window open.

He was one foot out the window, one still firmly planted in the plush cream carpet, when that fucking voice just-

"Michael?"

He froze, swallowing heavily as he still stared out of the window, not daring to turn around in case it was just a figment of his imagine- but there he was, sure as daylight- _Luke_.

"What...what are you _doing_?"

And God, Michael was far too caught up in staring at the human being in front of him like he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen- and even with his messy blond hair that fell in waves over his forehead, and the slightly rough stubble gracing his pale jaw, and the slightly purple smudges under those dazzlingly blue eyes- he _was_ the most beautiful thing Michael had ever seen.

The relief and confusion and joy he felt all mingling together to form one emotion of _whatthefuck_ was far too overwhelming for Michael to even be embarrassed that he'd been caught trying to escape through the window- instead, he ungracefully swung his leg back inside, hopping down off the window sill and landing ungracefully on his feet, just mere meters away from the boy he'd been missing for what felt like fucking centuries. And, perhaps the most painful thing about it all, was that Michael was too scared to even touch him.

Luke was eyeing him carefully, hovering awkwardly in the doorway to what Michael guessed must be his room- it made sense, with the unpacked luggage and all- Luke would only have arrived back home recently, and the woman must've been his mother, blonde hair and blue eyes and all. Michael had only heard about her from Luke, but he supposed she matched his description of typical annoying white mum- which only further begged the question of why on earth Luke had ran for the hills and ended up here. Michael couldn't quite recall how the fuck he ended up there, but by some stroke of luck, it'd been Luke who'd found him- out of all the people- fate was evidently on his side, if only temporarily. Michael couldn't believe it.

"I....uh, I- she kinda, just, screamed at me and I didn't know where the fuck I was, and, yeah..." Michael trailed off, a sheepish smile forming on his face- one which Luke didn't return, and Michael coughed uncomfortably. Only a few weeks ago, Michael would never have dreamed that the space between them could be so thick and full of tension; it made him sick to his stomach. Luke sighed, and his broad shoulders visibly slumped and Michael wanted nothing more than to prop them back up with a hug.

"What are you doing here, Michael?"  
Michael chewed his lip, the beginnings of hot, embarrassed tears pricking the corners of his eyes, and he already knew what Luke meant- evidently, _Luke_ knew what Michael was doing in his house, even though Michael was still clueless- but hadn't an inkling why Michael had strayed so far from home. Michael wasn't sure how he could be so oblivious.   
"Looking for you," he mumbled, wincing when Luke sighed again.  
"Listen, you can't-"  
"No, Luke, I need you to listen-" Luke opened his mouth, undoubtedly to protest, but Michael didn't stop. "Please," he pleaded desperately, "just hear me out. One last time." His voice was involuntarily thick was pain, and Luke seemed to give in at that, nodding slowly. It reminded Michael so much of that day when he'd caught Luke outside of his lecture, before everything had properly gone to shit (it'd already been crumbling at that point, simmering)- only this time he wasn't in the slightest bit hopeful.

Leading him over to the bed, Luke weakly grasped Michaels wrist instead of his hand, and he bit back a sad choked noise, because God, what he'd do to feel those long fingers intertwined with his own again.

"I'm sorry, Luke." Those words weren't, and never would be enough; Luke just bit his lip and looked anywhere but into Michaels eyes.  
"I know..." Michael took a shaky breath, "I know I fucked everything up between us. And God, what I'd do to fucking change that-" He shook his head. "I know, okay- I know I acted like-"

"Like an asshole," Luke said bitterly, and Michael let out a watery, empty laugh, which was far too loud and forced for it to ever be convincing, nodding.

"Like an asshole," Michael agreed. "And I know that this excuse is just as pathetic as the last time I used it, alright, b-but- I was so fucking scared..."

Luke rolled his eyes, and Michael could barely breathe around the lump in his throat.

"My parents, Luke..." Luke raised an eyebrow at that, his interest apparently suddenly peaking. "My parents are even bigger assholes than me, if you can believe it," Michael laughed again, and most of his effort went towards trying to disguise how close to tears he was- the wobble in his voice made it in vain, though.

There was a painful, heavy silence clouding all of Michael's senses, making him all the more aware of Luke's now concerned gaze bearing down on him, the younger boy evidently fearing the worst.  

"They...God, they fucking hate...hate _gays_ ," he choked, and Luke looked like he was on the verge of stopping him from carrying on, a pitiful look suddenly glazing over those blue eyes that Michael was confident he didn't deserve. "And...and they-"

"Christ, Mike, I'm sorry," Luke said quietly, and Michael shook his head, unable to stop the salty tear that rolled down his cheek. "I- I didn't know..."

"Don't apologise," Michael smiled sadly, "I don't deserve it. I hurt you, and I'm so s-sorry-"

"You don't have anything to be sorry for!" Luke cried out, twisting his fingers around each other where his hands rested in his lap like his life depended on it, chewing on his lip ring habitually, a desperate, almost tearful frown adorning his features. "I was an asshole too, and I was scared, too, and- and I fucking love-"

Michael cut him off, smashing his lips onto Luke's soft ones, and it felt like the world was fixed but falling apart all at once.

It was anything but the best kiss Michael had given- it was sloppy, messy, reckless- but really, wasn't that just what they were anyway? So imperfect, and so uncaring of it.

Luke didn't seem to mind either- and instead of pulling away and slapping Michael like they always did in the shitty rom-coms Calum liked to watch some time, as Michael had feared he might, he kissed back just as hard, hands coming up to tangle in Michaels hair, and Michael only became aware of the more tears that'd slipped from his eyes when he felt them mingle with Luke's as the tips of their noses brushed past each other. And it felt so _right_ , waves of relief crashing through him as Luke finally, _finally_ seemed to forgive him, no matter how undeserving of forgiveness Michael was.

Michael was shaking as his hands came up to rest at Luke's sides, holding him gingerly as their mouths slipped around in what could only be described as a spontaneous burst of passion and love, until Luke's hands came to rest atop his own, pressing them down until Michael's hands connected with Luke's waist firmly, and Michael smiled against Luke's lips, unable to stifle the slightly giddy giggle that escaped.

They kissed some more, shifting so naturally on the bed it was like Michael had been born for this very moment, until Luke was resting back on top of the duvet, with Michael hovering above, their lips never once disconnecting. Propping himself on his elbows, Michael let his lower half sink down a little (he was nowhere near as fit as he should be- didn't dig the morning runs or the almost ritualistic work outs as Ashton did- and so he was surprised he'd been able to hold himself up even for as long as he did)- and all it took was one well placed shift of his hips to have Luke whimper and still beneath him.

Michael, temporarily frozen in surprise, looked down at Luke, who blushed furiously and chewed his lip as he gazed up into Michaels eyes, and, experimentally of course, Michael rolled his hips down- purely to see what reaction he'd elicit. Again, Luke whimpered beneath him, and Michael couldn't help the poorly concealed smirk that just twisted the edges of his mouth, as well as the fondness he could practically feel radiating off of himself.

"Is this alright?" Michael murmured, breath hot on Luke's neck, and it hurt a little when Luke seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding; usually it was just frantic nodding and begging- although, Michael supposed, this wasn't exactly like all the other times. It wasn't a quick fuck when they were feeling particularly horny, or when they had time to squeeze in a blow job or two, or a hasty grinding session until they both came in their pants- it was intimate, it was real, and...was it love? Michael wasn't sure. There was a part of him screaming that it couldn't be- was too good to be true- and a part of him that desperately wanted love to be what was flooding his senses and sending his heart rate into overdrive.

He rolled his hips again, biting his lip to stop his own little moan from falling out as he felt himself chubbing up, Luke already pathetically hard where he was pressing against Michael's hip bone, grinding up involuntarily as far as he could manage where he was pinned under the older boy. Michael continued a little longer until he was fully hard, too, his cock beginning to ache where it was trapped in his ridiculously tight jeans, friction setting his nerves on fire in the best way imaginable.

"Jesus," Luke breathed as Michael attached his lips onto his neck, sucking hard and leaving marks where old ones had once been- ones that had long since faded...it'd been too long. He continued grinding down a little longer, before it became near unbearable, and reached down to palm himself through his pants.  
He let out a moan at the slight relief, only barely noticing Luke's eyes widen a little beneath him, and he paused his movements.  
"What's wrong?"  
"My parents are home," Luke gnawed on his already abused lip, "and Jack."  
Michael raised an eyebrow.  
"My brother," Luke explained, "he came back to visit yesterday...he was kinda the one who found you on our lawn...."  
Michael choked a little bit on nothing as the memory came back in a flood, struggling to hide the blush that came onto his face as he briefly remembered passing out in front of someone's house (evidently Luke's, with a miraculous stroke of luck), rolling his hips down quickly as a hasty distraction; Luke threw his head back on the pillow, panting, apparently just as desperate for it as Michael.  
"Do you really care?" Michael breathed, nipping the lobe of Luke's ear.  
"Huh?" Luke's breathy voice was undeniably breathy, and it made Michael's cock twitch.  
"If your family hears? Do you-" Michael grinded down harder, "-care?"  
"Fuck," Luke groaned- loudly- and Michael took that as a no.

He also took that as a cue to actually do something more than desperately grinding together, their cocks lined up through far too many layers of material to be comfortable, and he pulled back, eliciting a small whine from Luke, before allowing his hands to skirt the waistband of Luke's sweatpants, raising an eyebrow at him in almost unnecessary question. Luke didn't hesitate to nod this time, squirming and raising his hips off the mattress for Michael to slide them down easily. He slid them down quickly but gently, pulling Luke's boxers with them, and groaning when the younger boy's rock hard dick slapped up against his pale stomach, flushed a brilliant, angry pink and leaking against his creamy flat stomach, some precome narrowly missing Luke's white tshirt where it'd ridden up around his ribcage.  
"So fucking _pretty_ ," Michael whispered. He'd missed Luke's cock more than he realised- the wet dreams on nights spent alone didn't do it justice.

Luke blushed almost as bright as his dick, hips shifting a little on the mattress with Michael's words. In an instant, Michael's mouth was on him, not even bothering with teasing- he'd been craving the feeling of Luke's cock hitting the back of his throat for the eternity since he'd last taken him into his mouth, and it felt even better than he remembered.  
Luke gasped and shuddered as he hit the back of Michael's throat almost immediately, and Michael involuntarily gagged around him; Luke let out another of his pretty whines, and the sound travelled all the way down Michael's body to the very base of his throbbing dick.

He sucked quickly, his hand skilfully working what his mouth couldn't, and Luke was a mess after just a few bobs of his head, his long fingers coming down to tangle themselves in Michael's hair as he evidently struggled to keep his hips still.

"So good," he whimpered, and Michael found himself grinding down instinctively on the sheets, still desperate for friction but having entirely forgotten about himself, far too distracted by Luke's porn star moans above him.  
Michael continued to blow him as best he could, hollowing his cheeks and making Luke whine some more. It'd been longer than Michael would've liked, but he could still remember Luke's body like the back of his hand- the spots that drove him insane with gentle touches and hard thrusts, the way every muscle seemed to respond to certain words.

With one particularly pressurised suck, and a slight graze of his teeth along Luke's shaft, the blond boy could no longer keep still on the bed- he bucked up into Michael's mouth, catching Michael a little unawares as he gagged again, but Michael just soothed him and let him know that it was alright by letting his hands trail down from where they rested on Luke's bare waist to his ass, squeezing the pale, perky cheeks in his big hands.  
Luke was knocked breathless, the only sound filling the room his heavy, laboured pants and occasional whimpers, and the obscene sound of him sliding in and out of Michael's mouth.

Michael allowed his hands to move further and further closer together as he kneaded Luke's ass, until his finger tips were so painfully close to the tight, pink little hole he'd missed so much. Luke seemed to sense it too, growing restless and shifting further down the bed to try and get some contact on it, even with Michael's mouth still around his dick. Michael allowed a finger to just skirt around the edge, feeling the puckered skin there and tugging on it.  
Luke groaned, trembling beneath him. Michael smiled; he still had it.

Pulling off Luke in one swift motion (Luke, naturally, letting out a sound like he'd just been kicked in the balls), Michael rose from the bed and struggled with his belt buckle, eventually flipping it open and ripping it fully out of the hoops of his jeans, hastily tugging those down after. He was a little embarrassed when he saw the growing patch of precome on his boxers, but Luke didn't seem to notice- was far too busy struggling with taking his top off on the bed, eventually casting it aside to reveal the pale, firm torso, flushed baby pink and lightly dusted with golden freckles, his chest rising and falling quickly with every pant that fell past his swollen lips, skin moving over his prominent collarbones, and his ribs too- and Michael shimmied out of his boxers at lighting speed at the sight, slowly stroking his own painfully hard cock as he shrugged his own top off, too.

Luke watched him from where he lay on the bed, mouth slightly agape, looking at Michael like he was a fucking god (and Michael knew he was anything other than that, but it was always nice to pretend).

Michael moved slowly towards Luke, settling in front of him on the mattress, letting his hands ghost over Luke's hips and all the way down his thighs, stopping at his knees where his legs were bent and spread, granting Michael access, feet firmly planted in the sheets beside the older boy. He relished the way Luke's eyes squeezed shut at even the lightest of touches, his breath leaving him in a shaky gasp.

He leaned down, attaching his lips to Luke's neck, and groaning into his hot, smooth skin as their hips brushed together.  
"You definitely want this, baby?" He bit his tongue the minute he'd said it, afraid the pet name was a step too far- it'd just slipped out, a force of habit- but Luke only keened underneath him, nodding and reaching over to the bedside table, fumbling around for a bit until he was pulling out a bottle of lube, hands shaking slightly as he handed it to Michael quickly. Michael smirked, and Luke wriggled around, hands reaching up to fist the pillow on either side of his head, hips jutting up and trying to create more friction- only Michael had pulled back and was no longer hovering above him; he rested on his heels at the foot of the bed, back inbetween Luke's legs.

He ran his hands down Luke's strong calves, resting at his ankles, and pulling them gently impossibly further apart, until everything was on show. Luke whimpered, an undeniable blush glowing on his face as Michael went back to feeling around the perfectly tight little hole again, his other hand fondling the swollen pink balls.

"Please, Mike," Luke panted, and Michael was already lathering his fingers in lube. The blond's head was thrown back against the pillow, his hair falling in untameable waves against his forehead, shining in a light sheen of sweat, his entire body working and aching for it.  
"Such a good boy, not even touching yourself," Michael praised, and Luke jutted his hips once more, likely to emphasise that he desperately wanted to. "So good for me."  
"Mikey," Luke whined, squeezing his eyes shut. He wasn't going to have any of that.

He ducked down quickly, delivering a long, flat lick directly over Luke's hole, his tongue lingering as it caught on the rim; Luke's breath hitched in his throat, a cry leaving him as his eyes shot open, and his head snapped down to look at Michael where he was nestled between his long, pale legs.  
"That's right, baby. I want you to look at me," Michael said lowly, and Luke nodded.

It was clear he was struggling to follow Michaels instructions once the older boy inserted the first finger- he groaned, hips immediately moving down for more until Michael's finger was all the way in, and his eyes watered as he struggled to stay focuses on what Michael was doing.

Michael moaned as he felt how tight Luke was around him, and yet how easily he'd slipped in, Luke always so ready for him, insatiable with desire.

"More, more," Luke was whining, barely a few seconds after the first one was in, but Michael was too impatient to refused. He moved his index finger around for a bit, shallow thrusts in and out that had Luke writhing for another, until he slipped a second finger in beside the first.

He knew Luke's body; knew it only took him minutes to adjust, but he wanted to go slow- he scissored them gently, rotating them and struggling not to come from the sight of them slipping so easily back and forth past the perfect pink muscle, shining with lube.

Luke clenched around him- uncontrollably, almost- and it went straight to Michael's dick, which was now throbbing painfully against his stomach.

"So tight," Michael whispered, leaning down to press lingering kisses all over the inside of Luke's thighs, all the while pumping his fingers in and out torturously slowly. He didn't want to waste this- didn't want it to be quick and rushed and raw like all the other times. It needed to be passionate and intimate, to show Luke he was sorry- to show him that he cared. Luke seemed to sense that, no longer frantically trying to get Michael to speed up and fuck him hard- he let the moment take him, and let Michael take care of him. Michael guided him with a hand on his hip, the other still moving around inside of him, and Luke let out the prettiest of sounds, a stream of whines and whimpers falling from his pink lips and undoubtedly resounding through the walls of the house- neither of them particularly cared about that, though.

"Now, please, now," Luke pleaded, and Michael could hear the desperation and pure need lacing his voice and flooding his senses, and he couldn't help but lean forward and press kisses all over his bare chest.  
His heart skipped a beat at the sound of Luke's gasp as he slowly, carefully withdrew his fingers, watching as his hole returned to its previous tightness, like he'd never even been there. Michael had always marvelled at that, and then how easily he slipped in afterwards, like he and Luke were supposed to be together.

He rested back again, unwilling to let his hands leave Luke's body, but forcing himself to so he could lube himself up. He shuddered at the much needed contact, the lube cool and slick along his length as he stroked himself sparingly, so as not to come the minute he was inside Luke's tight heat.

He shifted forward, one hand on his dick, guiding himself towards Luke's hole, his fingers almost trembling in anticipation.

With one slow push forward, the head of his cock slipped inside, and he and the boy below him both simultaneously groaned and shuddered at the feeling- Michael rested to let Luke adjust, but he was already pushing his hips down, trying to get more of Michael inside of him, and Michael chuckled fondly, granting his wish and thrusting forward carefully until he was entirely buried in Luke's hole.

He grunted as he bottomed out, the sensation punching all the air out of his lungs, and Luke remained equally as breathless, chest shining and heaving.

"So full," Luke eventually whimpered out, and Michael reached out to wipe away the solitary tear that had slipped down his flushed cheek, his long dark eyelashes wet with it. Luke always cried when they did this, and at first Michael had naturally worried that he was hurting him- only for Luke to reassure him that it was just because it felt so good. Regardless, Michael wasn't sure it was something he'd ever get used to.

He waited for Luke to begin moving of his own accord underneath him before he started to move back out- and he was about halfway out, when he moved back in again, slowly- another tear found its way down Luke's cheek as he gripped the pillow harder, reaching to pull Michael by the forearm down into a deep kiss.

Michael went gladly, elbows sliding down the sheets until they were braced either side of his head, Luke's hands coming to wrap around his sides, and his legs wrapping around Michael's hips, clinging to him as the two began to fall into a rhythm. Luke moaned into Michael's mouth as the two of them continued to kiss, and it was so deep it made Michael feel complete again in every sense of the word- Luke only pulled away to gasp, loud, when Michael finally grazed his sweet spot on a deeper thrust.

Now having found the perfect angle, Michael shifted so he was hitting it dead-on nearly every time, and Luke fell apart beneath him, whines leaving him every single time Michael thrusted in, only having time to breathe shallowly each time Michael moved his hips back.

"Faster," Luke cried, and, yeah- his family _definitely_ heard that.  
The headboard of the bed was hitting against the wall with every movement, the bed frame squeaking almost dangerously underneath them.  
Michael obliged, snapping his hips back and forth, letting his lips trail down to Luke's neck and ghost over his jawline, breathing hotly in his ear.

"So good for me, baby boy," he ran his hands through Luke's sweaty hair, the blond still so soft in his fingers.  
"I'm c-close," Luke gasped, eyes finally meeting Michael's once more, and Michael was relieved to find nothing but adoration and pleasure there- not the lust he'd feared he'd find, which would only confirm that this was nothing more than another meaningless fuck to Luke. That didn't seem to be the case, though- and the thought both scared and made Michael immensely overjoyed at the same time.

And Luke was, in fact, telling the truth- he could feel his thighs trembling where they were still wrapped tight on Michael's waist, Luke's whole beautiful, lean body moving up and down the cotton sheets with each movement, his cock grazing Michael's stomach as they moved back and forth- as one.  
"Me too," he forced out in between guttural, breathless moans, and let one hand move from Luke's hair down to his cock, stroking him, firm and gentle all at once.

Luke cried out so loudly Michael was sure the whole street must've heard it, let alone the rest of the Hemmings family, and the idea that everyone could hear how good he was making Luke feel was enough for Michael to start stroking Luke faster, wanting them to both come together- together, together, together.

He felt Luke's nails drag down his back, and Michael was never one to brag, but it was apparent that the moan he emitted at the pain-pleasure surging down his core was enough to send Luke over the edge.

The younger boy came with a high-pitched moan, both legs and hole clenching around Michael almost painfully tightly, his head thrown back once more as his nails dug into Michael's back, and cum striped his chest and stomach, some falling short and spelling over onto Michael's fist. He came in three spurts in quick succession, back arching with each one, cries spilling endlessly from his lips as Michael stroked him through it.

The feeling of Luke tightening repeatedly around him naturally sent Michael over the edge too, his hips stuttering as he filled Luke up entirely, a moan of pleasure escaping him and hovering in the thick, heavy air, the unbelievably amazing sensation of his release coursing through his sweaty, exerted body.

Only once Luke began to flinch from overstimulation did Michael slowly, carefully pull out, and Luke whimpered at the feeling of some of Michael's cum trickling out of his loosened hole, and onto the sheets below.

Michael panted heavily, his arms beginning to tremble from holding himself up and the aftermath of his orgasm, and he allowed himself to collapse down on top of Luke.

They really should've paid attention to the bed squeaking earlier.

All Michael really understood, his senses still fuzzy in their blissed-out state, was that gravity was suddenly far too strong- they were falling- no, the bed was falling, and-

The bed was breaking.

Luke's hands tightened around him, his eyes widening with shock as the bed groaned in protest, the frame giving way and the mattress seemingly falling the short distance to the floor, with them still on it.

Michael was too shocked to talk or react as the bed hit the ground, the air whooshing past them, mattress bouncing a little as they gripped one another, all the breath knocked out of his lungs as the world span around them in dizzy confusion.

Only once they'd stopped completely did Michael finally dare a look at Luke, the blond boy's sweaty, flushed face mirroring Michael's own shock and confusion.

"Did we just-"

"Was that-"

"I think-"

Luke licked his lips, carefully, hands still not releasing their grip on Michael's forearms.

"Did we...we broke my bed..."

"Yeah...I, uh- I think we did..."

It only took one more stare at one another for the two of them to snap out of it- Michael saw Luke's eyes crease, saw his lips stretch into a grin as that wonderful, genuine laughter cascaded out of him like an infinite waterfall, and Michael couldn't help but join in- there was no way he'd ever not be able to laugh when Luke was (it wouldn't have even mattered if he'd just been stabbed in the lungs and Luke was laughing at him; he'd probably still (try to) laugh along too)- it was just too infectious. Michael loved it.

" _We broke my bed_ ," Luke wheezed, and Michael was almost crying into his shoulder where the two of them were still pressed together, unable to stop the giggling fit that had taken hold of the both of them.

"God, I love you," Michael laughed, without even thinking, really, his face still buried in Luke's shoulder- only when Luke froze beneath him did he realise what he'd said.

He pulled back, slowly, to find Luke blinking at him- not angry or upset- but curious, like he was waiting to see what Michael would do next. Michael knew what he had to do. He knew what he wanted to do- had wanted to do so badly, this whole time, but had never once been brave enough or found the courage, because even though it should've been simple, it was so complex and frightening and confusing and-

"I love you," he repeated quietly, and Luke remained expressionless, for a moment.

Michael watched his blue eyes light up, before anything else, though, and then the rest of his face followed- Luke's face was overcome with the biggest smile Michael had ever seen- bright and ridiculously happy, enough to cure disease and end wars and sail a thousand ships, a smile like there was nothing wrong in the world, a smile like Michael was his fucking everything, a smile like-

"I love you, too."

"Sorry about your bed-"

"Don't ruin it," Luke laughed, pulling him back in for a kiss, their lips connecting like two worlds colliding in the best way imaginable, and this was everything Michael had ever wanted.

The moment they were cleaned up (and fully dressed again), Luke shoved everything he owned into two impossibly small suitcases, it all fitting somehow by a miracle, and he held Michael's hand and kissed him so hard it almost hurt, for what must've been at least the hundredth time that day.

"I love you," he whispered again once he pulled away, taking Michael's hand which wasn't holding one of his suitcases as the two of them stood in the doorway, looking at his bedroom for what Luke vowed was the last time.

Michael pecked him softly on the nose, squeezing his hand.  
"Are you ready?" He asked, his heart thumping in his chest, because what if Luke suddenly changed his mind and decided he didn't want to go back after all? Who would, anyway- it was a shitty apartment and a shitty university and-

"I wish I'd never left," Luke said softly, and Michael couldn't help the beam that shone off his face.

It was only once they got downstairs that Michael had a real reason to worry.

The same woman as before- Liz, if Michael remembered correctly- was sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the mahogany, her lips pursed as her hands were clasped tightly around a mug of tea that appeared to have long gone cold, and she looked to be almost shaking with an unreadable expression on her face. Michael felt Luke physically deflate next to him, apparently having wanted to leave as quickly as possible with no dilemmas. Liz was proving a rather large one as she turned to them, and, yes- that was definitely disgust and anger shining in those cold blue eyes.

She opened her mouth to say something- but was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps as a tall, looming man walked into the room behind her, partially blocking their way to the door. Michael shuddered as Luke gulped, and took his hand into his own once more, squeezing reassuringly. He didn't know much about Luke's parents- only that they were basically assholes- but God, he could see the effect they had on Luke within seconds, and he hated them for it.

Andy came to stand behind Liz, his hand squeezing her shoulder and hers coming to rest atop his, in that sickening way parents always had.

"How dare you," Andy spat, lowly, his voice practically shaking with rage, and Luke winced a little. Yeah- they _really_ fucking heard. If Michael had known they would have this reaction to a few _sex noises-_  
"You disgust me," Liz added, albeit slightly quieter than her husband. "I can't-"  
Michael suddenly felt something shift in the presence next to him- Luke straightened up, his hand tightening around Michael's, and Michael's gaze shifted to him in surprise as his chin tilted up, and all the fear and reluctance that'd been there only seconds before evaporated.  
"Y'know what?" Luke said, loud, his voice filled with this cheery confidence that uplifted Michael in the strangest way- made him feel invincible. "I don't care," he hissed, and Michael could only be glad he wasn't on the receiving end of those words.

Liz and Andy stared at their son blankly, evidently in shock, and Michael heard a surprised and perhaps impressed scoff from the side, only to see another tall blond, scarily similar in appearance to Luke, although a little taller, hovering in the doorway- that had to be Jack.

"Why, you little-" Andy began, finger pointing accusingly as he advanced towards Luke, his voice loud and booming and furious, but Luke was already moving towards the door with Michael in tow.

Michael was in a state of shock, could only watch as Luke flipped them the bird, the image of both of Luke's parents staring right back at the outstretched middle finger in utter disbelief and defeat imprinted in his mind as the two of them stepped out onto the lawn.

"Oh, and, by the way-" Luke came to a sudden halt in the doorway, Michael nearly stumbling as he was forced to narrowly avoiding bumping straight into Luke where their hands were still interlaced in Luke's iron grip, "-there's cum all over the _fucking_ sheets!"

He slammed the door.

Michael gaped at him.

Luke's chest heaved as Michael watched him, still entirely confused as to where the fuck that side of Luke had come from, until Luke turned to him and the biggest, most inappropriately innocent smile painted his features- as if none of that had even just happened- evidently ridiculously pleased with himself.

"Did you see that?" He gushed, practically bouncing with excitement. "Did you see that, Mikey?"

"I-"

"I showed them, I fucking showed them!"

"You...yeah, you definitely did," Michael laughed, still a little speechless, Luke still beaming to himself. He laughed in disbelief, despite himself.

"Did I tell you I love you?" He asked, not bothering to reprimand himself for how much of a fucking sap he sounded, his heart melting with the utter adoration he felt for the blond, bright ocean-eyed boy he'd completely and pathetically fallen for.

Luke smiled back, so wide and full of love that words weren't even necessary- apparently not having the heart to tell Michael that he was ridiculously soppy either.

"Take me home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soooo sorry this took me so long to update (nearly a month), I've just had a really busy month and all-- also my laptop erased literally everything and so I've had to rewrite all the updates I had already prepared, which real fucking sucks, but that's life, and I'm mostly back on track. I apologise for this because I'm so shit at writing smut but it's for the plot and...yeah. Thank you to @seizethevictim for motivating me to update this, comments like that mean a lot :)  
> Please don't forget to leave kudos and feedback if you enjoyed! Xx


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